Vampire Unseen (Vampire Untitled Trilogy Book 2)

by Lee McGeorge

  The women who worked at the only shop could all remember their English or American visitor. He was polite, a little unsure of himself, dressed in clothes that the women of the shop found memorably nice. He was clean, brushed his hair and despite speaking no Romanian was charming, polite and adoringly shy. They all remembered him and they all thought he was lovely.

  The woman in the R.A.T. cabin remembered him very well. She spent her days sitting in a cubicle no bigger than a phone booth selling bus tickets. He only bought from her once but it was so out of place to have a foreign visitor in Noua that he was impossible to forget.

  At the apartment block a story emerged of how on his first day in Noua, literally within an hour of his arrival, Nealla and Raul had singled him out and fought with him in the street.

  “They pulled him to the ground,” one woman said. “They were going to cut him with a knife, I saw it.”

  “And did you do anything to help? Did you call the police?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I didn’t want to get involved.”

  Different witnesses, always the same story. Nealla Stolojan and Raul Ponta had bullied and attacked Paul McGovern in broad daylight and nobody lifted a finger to help him. The source of the animosity was unknown, but it got serious enough to attack him in the lobby of his own building so badly that the walls still held blood stains.

  But at the centre of every recollection there was another player yet to be accounted for. The Romanian Girl in a white coat. Everybody knew her, the women in the shop, the woman selling bus tickets, the curtain twitching neighbours; when McGovern was seen he was normally with this girl.

  Ciprian stood outside McGovern’s block shuffling his feet back and forth in the snow as he spoke to another of the curtain twitchers through her kitchen window.

  “Do you know who the girl is?” he asked. “People keep telling me the Englishman was seen with a Romanian girl and I need to find her.”

  “I don’t know who she is,” the woman replied. “But she lives close. I always see her putting trash in the rear bins.”

  “The bins on the back?” Ciprian asked pointing to the side of the building.

  “She must be in one of the close blocks, but she doesn’t live in this one.”

  Cirpian thanked the lady and made his goodbye with a half wave half salute. He walked around the block to look at the bins, a walled concrete enclosure filled with huge metal dumpsters. These bins served four blocks. The girl didn’t live in McGovern’s block.

  He knew she was pretty and slim, in her late teens, had very dark shiny hair, always wore a white puffer jacket and was often seen with the Englishman.

  Ciprian went into the first of the possible blocks to speak with the superintendents. The blocks were managed by groups of old men who took care of the bills and maintenance issues. They were always old men, always retirees, and more often than not knew everybody in their building.

  “It could be the Popescu girl.” the superintendent said.

  “Popescu?” Ciprian replied.

  “White jacket, one of those puffy ones the kids wear. She’s about seventeen or eighteen and has long black hair.”

  Ciprian checked the mailboxes in the lobby. Family Popescu, apartment fourteen.

  He composed himself as he rang the doorbell and was greeted by a grey haired old lady and the smell of fresh baking.

  “Buna,” he said. “I’m looking for a young lady who I believe lives here. Miss Popescu?”

  “Ildico?” the woman asked. “Do you want my daughter?”

  “I believe so, is she here?”

  The woman called out loudly, “Ildico!”

  There were sounds of movement and footsteps. The old lady stepped away as a young girl came into the hallway. The moment Ciprian laid eyes on her he knew she was the one. Everything he had been told was embodied in the person before him.

  “Hello... You are Ildico, yes?” Ciprian said.

  “I am Ildico.” She looked nervous.

  “Ildico, do you know a man called Paul McGovern?”

  The look of pain and defeat that spread across Ildico Popescu’s face spoke volumes. Ciprian smiled. He’d hit the jackpot.

  ----- X -----

  Ildico was led into the interview room looking like a frightened little bird, her skin was ashen, her eyes were wide; Noica could imagine her heart pounding with worry. Noica took a notepad and settled down beside Lupescu who had also decided to attend. They would sit behind her and stay silent. Noica felt that Lupescu was now bored by the proceedings, he was slow and sleepy and his mind seemed to be elsewhere. There wasn’t a lot for the police here to do other than take statements and scour the forest for physical evidence. The fundamentals of the story were understood. Paul McGovern killed two men and left the country. There were no other suspects to the crime and the police no longer had any impetus to rush. The killer wasn’t on the loose, he had escaped and they knew it.

  They began with photographs.

  Nealla dusted in snow with his eyes open and his intestines spread out, Raul frozen solid with his throat cut. There was no way to see Ildico Popescu’s emotions from behind but when she laid a photograph down he could see her hand trembling.

  A female officer was interviewing. Lupescu had told him that the interviewer, Mirela Nistor, was far harsher than any man who could conduct the interview; most men would soften up if a girl showed emotion, Mirela wouldn’t.

  Ildico leafed through the pictures at least twice, then put them on the table and spread them out.

  “We know that Paul McGovern did this,” Mirela stated. “What we don’t understand is why he did it.”

  Ildico traced her fingers across one of the photographs.

  “Why did he do this, Ildico?”

  “Because... they brought it on themselves.” Her voice was soft and slow, weepy. There was a warmth to the tone despite the sadness, but the spirit was defeated. A significant part of her was already broken.

  “Brought what on themselves?”

  Ildico motioned the photographs. “Nealla wanted me to be his girlfriend. For many years he wanted this. I never would.” She paused for a moment but with her hand raised in anticipation of saying more. “I don’t have any relationship with Nealla, I have never had a relationship with Nealla. But he would never accept this. He was... I don’t know how to say... he is a horrible man. He won’t leave me alone.” She fingered the photographs and pulled one towards her to look more closely, then collected them all and turned them face down. She took a few moments to compose herself then spoke again. “When I met Paul, I liked him. It made Nealla jealous. He was, angry and frustrated. I knew what it was, Paul is British and has money and is successful. I wanted to be with Paul not Nealla. But Nealla, he is nothing, he is poor Romanian with nothing. He hated Paul because he can’t compete and there was nothing he could do, so Nealla tried to hurt him.”

  Noica noticed the slight shudder of her shoulders. Heard the faintest sniff. Mirela pushed a packet of tissues across the table to which Ildico thanked her and took one.

  “I don’t know about this,” Ildico said without prompting. “I don’t know how they are killed, I don’t know about any of that.”

  “What can you tell me about Paul McGovern. How did you meet him?”

  Ildico purged through a long exhalation. She wiped her eyes. “Have you spoken to Paul?”

  “Do you know where we can find him?”

  “He lives in a block on Strada Bunloc. Speak to him. You don’t need to ask me.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Ildico shrugged. “A few days ago. Last week.”

  “People have told us you were close, that they saw you with him often.”

  “I haven’t seen him for a few days.” She spat the words a little more forcefully and Mirela picked up on the cue.

  “Are you and he still friends?”

  Ildico shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, how would you des
cribe your relationship with him?”

  She shrugged again.

  “Were you close? Just friends? Were you having a sexual relationship?”

  Ildico suddenly sobbed, a great gushing sob that ended in a cry of anguish. Somewhere a dam had burst and it was all flushing out. Noica and Lupescu looked to one another questioningly, then they both looked to Mirela.

  “Ildico,” Mirela said, “Ildico look at me. What happened.”

  The story came in sobs and wails. It took an hour to tell a tale that should take three minutes. She had visited McGovern. He had already decided to leave Romania and head back to London. They were preparing to have a meal together. He wanted sex, she didn’t... she was a virgin... he didn’t take no for an answer.

  Noica scribbled it into his notes feeling the dread of inevitability. Her story was heading towards a foregone conclusion. McGovern’s behaviour had a horribly familiar pattern. He’d seen this before. He’d seen it many times.

  “God damn you!” Ildico yelled as she slammed a fist onto the table. She turned the photographs over and separated one, talking to it, shouting. “God damn you. God damn you. You did all this.”

  Lupescu stood to see which image she had and mouthed the name ‘Stolojan’ to Noica. It was Nealla, he was the focus of aggression. It seemed a weird switch around; one would have thought she was angry with McGovern but all the anger was clearly focussed on the dead man.

  Mirela reached across the table and took hold of Ildico’s hands.

  “Ildico, you need to explain what has happened. Take a breath and try.”

  “Paul is a vampire!” she shouted. Noica saw Lupescu and Mirela sit up, electrified. “Paul went to diavolul pădure and the strigoi got him. He was nice. He was kind and nice and then the strigoi made him change... Nealla didn’t know. Nealla attacked Paul, but he didn’t know Paul was a vampire.”

  “You say he was nice...” Mirela asked trying to calm with her tone of voice.

  “Yes, he was nice!” Ildico shouted back. “He was nice when I met him. He was a writer. He had a story to make into a book. He was lovely, a kind and friendly man and I was proud that he was my friend. But Nealla wouldn’t leave him alone.”

  Noica leaned to Lupescu and whispered, “I need to ask her about the diavolul pădure. It’s important.”

  Lupescu nodded. “Officer Nistor,” he called with commanding authority. Mirela stopped and looked. Ildico went quiet. Lupescu nudged Noica as a prompt.

  “Hello... Ildico...” She turned in her seat to show eyes streaming with tears, her mouth skewed. “My name is Doctor Lucian Noica. My concern here is that Paul McGovern may harm more people or may even harm himself. We don’t know where he is and I’m worried that he might be quite sick... You mentioned that Paul went to the diavolul pădure, can you explain what happened?”

  Ildico wiped her eyes on her sleeve and nodded.

  “In Noua, there is a devil forest. I was always told it was a vampire grave with a strigoi, we all know to stay away from it but Paul went there. He didn’t believe in strigoi.” She snorted a crying laugh. “He didn’t even believe in God.”

  “Go on,” Noica encouraged.

  “He went... He told me he went there twice, I think; but I’m sure he went more than he told me.”

  “And what happened?”

  She shrugged. “He changed. It was subtle. I didn’t know him well enough to know his real personality so I can’t say for sure that he changed, but he became more... ‘stronger’ is the best word. He was timid and shy at first. Then he became stronger.”

  “Mentally stronger, do you mean? Strength of personality?”

  Ildico nodded. “He said he was dreaming about vampires too and I remember thinking that the dreams were hurting him. Whenever he mentioned it he looked troubled.”

  “Was there anything else that you can say about how he changed, did he have problems with his memory or speech, was he ever confused?”

  She turned her chair to face him more directly. “He was confused. Yes. He called me one night and asked if he had hurt me. It was strange, really strange because he really thought he had done something to hurt me. He sounded upset and nervous so I went to visit him and when I got there I found that he had cut his own neck, here.” She drew a line across her shoulder and collarbone. “He was covered in bruises and cuts from fighting with Nealla. But that was the strange thing. He didn’t know the difference. He had cut himself and been injured in a fight, but he thought he had attacked me.”

  “He hadn’t attacked you at this point?”

  “No, not at all.” Ildico said almost pleading. “Like I said, he was really nice until the last time I saw him.”

  “Was Paul aware that he was changing?”

  Ildico nodded firmly. “He was very aware. The next day he said he wanted to go to London to visit his doctor. He said he was sick and needed help. He was very strong about it and had made the decision.” Ildico held her hand up leaving Noica in anticipation that she would speak again. “Do you know what happened with Raul and the Boy?”

  Noica shook his head.

  “He got into a fight with Raul and the young boy who is always with them.”

  “Mihai?” Lupescu asked.

  Ildico nodded. “I think that’s his name. We saw them, we saw Mihai and Raul and I told Paul that Raul... Raul... he likes young boys.”

  Lupescu nodded in acknowledgement. It looked like old news to him.

  “Paul got angry and he chased Raul into the forest.”

  “Did you go with him?” Lupescu asked.

  “He ran too fast and I couldn’t keep up. I tried, but I lost them for a while. Then I saw Raul running towards me. He looked very frightened, he ran past me like he was being chased but Paul wasn’t there. I went deeper into the forest and found Paul with the boy...” she went silent and her eyes glazed over.

  “What did you see, Ildico?”

  Ildico closed her eyes and purged a few breaths through her nose. “He was drinking blood from boy’s hand. There was a cut, here,” she demonstrated the wound by tracing it out with her finger. Mihai’s wound. “Paul didn’t cut the boy,” Ildico asserted. “Raul did. Paul tried to do first-aid... he... he...”

  “He found the boy bleeding and drank from him.” Noica said.

  Ildico closed her eyes and nodded. “He was horrified by what he had done. He was crying so much. Paul didn’t believe in strigoi, but this made him change his mind. He didn’t believe he could become a vampire but then he found himself drinking the blood of a child.”

  “What happened next?” Noica asked.

  “We went to his apartment. He cried a lot, he was worried and scared. He was worried that if people found out what he had done they would kill him and bury him in the forest. He was so upset. He cried most of the day. I stayed with him that night to make sure he was OK, but the next morning he was very different.”

  “Was this when he attacked you?” Noica asked.

  “Attacked me?”

  “When he forced you to have sex with him?”

  Ildico suddenly shrunk away again and was back in the painful mindset. “Yes. I left straight after and didn’t go back. I didn’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

  “Ildico,” Lupescu said. “What Paul McGovern has done to you is a serious crime and I think it is best we record it as a crime to stop him doing it to anyone else.”

  She laughed, snorting tears at the absurdity. She grabbed a photograph and waved it at him. “He’s done worse,” she said. Then she turned the photograph around and looked at it for a little too long. It was the same photograph of Nealla, his eyes open, his scream frozen solid. It was a horror picture to just about anyone, but Noica would swear that Ildico, whilst examining the picture and despite all of her tears, was wearing the thinnest of smiles.

  ----- X -----

  Paul had stripped the room of the wet carpet and built a worthwhile living space. Every amenity was simple but adequate. The front bay w
indow was boarded with steel plates on the outside and he’d covered the interior of the window with kitchen foil to ensure no light could spill through the gaps at night. The fuses for the ground floor lighting circuit blew every time he tried to repair it and he realised water must be in one of the light fittings somewhere, but the wall sockets were working from which he could use his laptop and light the place with a small table lamp. It cast a warm beige glow across the room that belied the dampness.

  Despite the limitations it was surprisingly liveable. Cold running water in the kitchen and toilet. Mains electric that, with the exception of the ground floor lights, seemed to be working. Best of all was the internet connection. This was something he would never have dared dream possible. There was a pub in the street behind the squat that offered free wi-fi for customers and the connection was in range.

  The lock to the back gate was changed and he’d jammed and disabled the front door lock.

  He’d spent the afternoon reading the knife fighting book.

  It was so short he’d read through it twice and was preparing to go through the exercises for the third time. It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever read in his life. How could someone wantonly write a practical guide to killing people in street fights? The explanations on which organs bleed the most and how quickly death would occur were of importance to medical staff, but this was intended to educate thugs and muggers. It left him worried to even have it in his possession. He had knives. He had a guide on how to be a more efficient and brutal type of aggressor. He was practicing and rehearsing. This wasn’t the type of skill he had intended to learn to make his escape. This was horror.

  In the rear room by the kitchen he had rolled up the mattress from the damp bed, wrapped it tightly in blankets and tied it all into shape. It stood in the corner as an attack dummy, ready to be assaulted and stabbed with his knives.

  The knives were for protection of course. The Army-Man in the military store had advised him to take a yoke, a Y shaped piece of webbing that buttoned onto trousers like a pair of suspenders. Paul had stitched the sheaths to the yoke with the blades on his ribcage and the handles reaching down over his belly. The idea being he could put his hands under his coat, grab the knife handles and pull down to be fully armed with two razor sharp blades in his fists. In his head he’d imagined crossing his arms to withdraw them but the first time he tried he saw the risk of slashing his own wrists and forearms.