This wasn’t a movie.
As I flopped back down, I spotted my cane in the waste can beneath my desk.
“So you’re a vampire?” I wanted to sound nonchalant but it came out sarcastic.
“I wanted eternal life.” Blood trickled from his nostrils. He pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket, hacked into it then tossed it over his shoulder onto my clean rug. “And I didn’t care how I got it, as long as I didn’t have to pretend there was a god. So when I heard there was a guy down in Chinatown willing to sell it to me cheaply, I went for it.”
He stepped toward me.
“You’ve got to be jerking my chain,” I said, counting silently. Ring number four. Alex pick up! I didn’t know how long I could keep the ghoul pontificating the virtues of vampirism. He was standing between me and my cane.
My cane with the big, brass head.
Perhaps it was illness, because he continued, seemingly oblivious to the faint chirping of my phone. “Thought he’d give me some herbs or perform some occult ritual. I didn’t expect him to take me to a back room and offer me to a few buddies of his for lunch.”
Six… Seven… I prayed Alex’s answering service wouldn’t kick in. The cops rotated their shifts in an irregular pattern, so I wasn’t sure if Alex would be at home or cruising his beat.
“I’m thinking we’re not talking sandwiches here,” I quipped, trying to keep his focus away from the pillow.
“So here I am.” He spread his arms wide, threatening to envelop me.
“Hello?” I heard Alex say. I cringed, fearful he’d been too loud,
I pushed the phone beneath my pillow, hoping to conceal it yet allow Alex to listen in.
“Yes, so here you are.” It was inane, but when there’s some guy threatening to rip your throat out, it’s hard to think clearly.
There were only two ways out of the room: through the window or past the killer. My odds of surviving weren’t good either way.
I had to keep the addict talking and give Alex a chance to realize what the situation was. And time to respond.
But would Alex arrive in time? Probably not. Even if another cop in the area was asked to check on me, I’d be dead by then.
The guy took another step toward me. I swung my legs upward and accidentally kicked my pillow.
The phone clattered against the top of my nightstand and hit the rug.
I whipped around toward the other side of the bed.
The puker growled and rushed forward. Knocking me in the lower back, he thrust me toward the far wall and snatched up my cell phone. His strength surprised me.
Though my lungs were half-constricted with fear, I muscled up enough strength to belt out a deafening scream before I hit the floor.
Surely Alex could hear that.
There was little room to maneuver but I managed to bounce back to my feet. I ran around the end of the bed and past the killer. He grabbed me by the right wrist and yanked my arm up behind my back.
“Think you can trick me?” The killer threw my phone toward the window. It smashed into the wall near the sill and cascaded to the floor in pieces.
“You’re hurting me,” I protested, attempting to twist toward the dressing table.
“That’s the point.” He sank his fangs into my throat.
Searing pain shot down my neck. It felt like my skin was being ripped open. I thought about Helene’s pink bandages. I screamed, wrenching my neck upward and arching my back.
Surprisingly, he let go.
I raced toward the trashcan and yanked out my cane, while fearing his hands would tighten around my neck.
I spun around and began swinging the cane wildly. Even if I couldn’t hit hard enough, maybe I could keep him from getting too close and make my way to the front door.
The puker was doubled over, clutching at his stomach.
I swung the cane upward, preparing a blow to the back of his head. My assailant collapsed to his knees. I don’t know if it was shock or utter surprise, but I just stood there, watching, the cane grasped in one hand while my left explored the wound on my throat.
The ghoul yanked at my lovely lace bedspread then pitched forward onto my bed. He spewed dark blood all over it then slid to the floor. His chest heaved, struggling to take in air. My own blood dripped down from the corners of his mouth.
A police siren wailed from outside.
Tremors wracked my body as fear fought with hope. Should I run for it or bash the living daylights out of the guy’s head? He’d attacked my sister and just ruined my expensive ivory bedspread out of pure spite.
“You won’t need that.” He pointed toward my cane. “I’m dying.” He began choking.
I peeked out the window while simultaneously keeping an eye on my intruder. The squad car stopped in front of the building. A cop jumped out of the driver’s seat.
It was Alex!
He ran up the front steps and into the lobby. I turned my attention back toward the puker.
It was one thing to imagine killing a man, but another to actually do it. As much as I hated what he did to Helene, I couldn’t force myself to wail on his heaving, bony chest with the heavy brass head of my cane.
He smiled crookedly then spit blood onto my beautiful, light grey carpet. “It’s ironic.” He sputtered out and gasped for breath.
I started forward but he held up his right hand, motioning me to stop. “I wanted eternal life, and yet I’m dying.” He sucked in air, his chest rattling like a dying snake. “I thought it’d be cool to be a vampire, but, you know what?”
I wasn’t interested in responding. Hopefully, Alex would be running through my front door any moment. I was glad he had insisted I give him a copy of the key when I first moved in. I thought it was an unnecessary precaution; I guess Alex knew what he was doing after all.
The puker’s head rolled back and he took another strangled breath.
There was a knock on the front door. Then a pause while a key was likely being inserted in the lock.
I stepped toward the living room, but the freak stunned me by leaping to his feet. He hit my forearm hard, knocking the cane out of my hand. I yelped, picturing Alex discovering me with my throat torn open, my back broken.
Surprisingly strong fingers tightened around both wrists.
“God has the last laugh.” He pressed his body close to mine and spit into my face as he spoke. His breath smelled like putrefied flesh. Horrified, I tried to turn my face away, but he let go of my right arm and grabbed my chin, yanking my face toward his. I tried not to breathe in his foul smell.
“I’m allergic to blood!”
He let go to hit me across the right cheek. I fell to the floor, listening to his uproarious laughter.
Alex dashed into the room. Following him was a uniformed cop, welcomingly large and muscular. Alex quickly took in the scene. Concern flashed across his face as he noted I lay on the floor, caressing my wounded face. Then anger twisted his features.
The puker laughed uproariously then spewed more dark vomit all over my rug.
Horrified at the desecration to my floor covering, I stood transfixed as the anonymous cop grabbed the Vampire Killer by the scruff of his neck.
The ghoul went limp in his hands and slid out of his grasp to the floor.
Alex lifted me up and embraced me, nearly smothering me in his enthusiasm.
I fought to look over his broad shoulder toward Helene’s attacker, lying backward on my grey carpet, blood and vomit running down his chin and into the hollow of his neck.
He began convulsing, his arms and legs flailing about, knocking my nightstand to the floor.
He took one last, strangled, gurgling breath and fell silent. His long, tapering fingers curled into birdlike talons.
Was he truly a vampire? Or a creepy pretender? In either case, my blood appeared to be particularly poisonous to him.
I watched him die in agony and was glad he went straight to Hell.
Chapter 7
The E.R. nurse, a
weary-looking plump blonde, chattered merrily about the fog and the blustery wind, an obvious attempt to distract me from what her right hand was doing, rubbing away the streaks of blood, mingled with hair, coating my throat and neckline.
Alex was likely pacing in the lobby. The guilt would plague him for his inability to protect me from being attacked long after his frustration wore him out. After preliminary questioning by the Medical Examiner and the detective in charge, Alex rushed me to Swedish Hospital. Fearful of what damage had been done to my throat, I didn’t want to observe the changes in Alex’s expression, morphing from concern to horror, as the wounds were revealed by the nurse’s ministrations. So I had asked him to remain outside the backroom.
But I hadn’t considered the nurse herself.
“What the—” Her eyes sprang wide with surprise. Leaning in closer, she blinked rapidly, as if my skin shone with an unnatural glare.
“Huh.” She dropped several blood-soaked pieces of gauze into a silver pan then grabbed my chin and turned my head to the right, inspecting my throat. I felt her other hand probing at my skin.
“Weird. The scratches are only superficial. I expected them to be deeper.”
My fingers flew up to my throat.
There had been so much blood.
But felt only two round bumps.
“It’s natural to be curious, but please take your hands away. We’ve got to keep it clean for the stitches.”
Tense with frustration, I pulled back from the nurse. I needed a mirror.
“How did you get these puncture wounds?” she asked.
Vague, amorphous dark shapes flitted through my dreams. “He’s at the window!” I yelled, waking myself up.
I reached out for Alex but he wasn’t there. Since my home had become a crime scene, Alex bundled me off to his place after the hospital. Although tempted to snuggle up in his bed, I had opted for the couch. Alex, ever the gentleman, didn’t take advantage of my vulnerability nor complain. I couldn’t allow the killer to not only invade my home, but also twist the standards I lived by.
Standards no longer the norm in our culture.
Alex dropped the toast he was buttering in the kitchen and ran to my side.
Despite being cocooned in a thickly padded crazy quilt, a cacophony of crimson, yellow, and sea green, a tendril of ice wound itself around my ribcage and down my spine. Noting the shudder wracking my body, he sat down and pulled me close.
“It’s over now,” he murmured. “He’s dead. He can’t ever hurt you again.”
I leaned into him, borrowing his warmth and savoring his strength, my head nestled against his shoulder. The firm muscles of his chest pressed against my left breast. For a few minutes I permitted myself to pretend he’d always be there, I’d always feel comfortable and safe.
It was a very pleasant lie.
Because he’d almost been too late.
I also feared he was losing patience with my refusal to become intimate, but that discussion would have to wait for a future time when life settled back into a new normal.
Whatever normal might be. Despite Helene’s protests, I couldn’t picture her moving back to Reno. At some point we’d reach a compromise between nurturing on my side and independence on hers. But it was certain our lives would become more intertwined.
Helene’s sutures were due to be removed in two days. I’d be there for her, holding her hand, feeling her muscles tense as her eyes traced the newly forming scars with both fascination and horror.
“So is this what it’s like?” I asked.
“What?”
I straightened up and looked into those luminous blue eyes.
“To be a policeman. Seeing the very worst of humanity day after day. The crazies, the wife-beaters, the drug pushers.”
Alex tucked a lock of hair, sprawled across my right eye, behind my ear. “Thank God that’s not my whole life.”
He kissed the tip of my nose.
“Do you ever get tired of confronting evil?”
“Sometimes, but it’s not all cops do.”
I paused, contemplating the best way to phrase my question then decided to be direct.
“Are you ever happy to see them die?”
A look of incredulity twisted his face. He didn’t answer.
I pressed the point. Somehow it would be cleansing to know Alex rejoiced in seeing the murderer dead too. “When you have to shoot someone who’s done something very wicked, like the man who attacked Helene and me, are you glad to see them die?”
Alex looked away. “No.” He stared at the red Persian carpet on the floor. “Killing someone is terrible, it’s a memory you can never erase if you have a conscience, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
We each drifted into the safety of our own contemplation. I fingered the bandage on my throat, a much smaller one than on Helene’s. The couch cushions were plump and comfortable. But it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d lain on a wooden plank: I’d scarcely slept. The words of the ghoul’s final speech kept spooling in my brain, like a CD track stuck in an endless loop.
Someone in Seattle was making monsters.
Or conning disturbed people into believing they were monsters. This was the city known for the rebirth of the modern freak sideshow.
“How is it possible?” I asked, “He claimed some guy in Chinatown turned him into a vampire.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Alex replied, finally looking up from the carpet. “People will believe anything nowadays. Their parents were aliens. Wearing a wooden pyramid on your head will channel the positive forces of the universe into your brain. Crap like that. People even drink human blood.”
“But he came through my window,” I persisted, “On the ninth floor!”
“You were tired. You only think he came through the window, but he came through the front door.”
“But the dining room window. Something was out there.”
“A large crow or seagull hit the window, not the Boogie Man.”
I leapt to my feet, the quilt flopping to the floor. Warmed by anger, I no longer needed it.
“In the middle of the night? I never see crows and seagulls flying around the building at night. They’re, they’re—” I really didn’t know where the birds were at night because it wasn’t something I’d ever considered before.
The phone rang. Alex glanced at it, apparently reluctant to answer. After the third ring, he checked the cell phone screen for the caller’s identification then flipped it on.
After a brief discussion, he cursed and slipped it into his front pocket.
“That was the precinct. I’d better go in. Press is all over their cases, asking what happened last night.”
He shook his finger at me before heading to his room to change. “I’d better find you here when I return.”
I gave him my wide-eyed, most innocent look I could conjure up.
He likely wasn’t convinced.
No matter how many times I’d visited Chinatown, the intricate woodcarvings and the splash of lipstick red across the restaurant exteriors never failed to delight me.
Except today.
The near omnipresent winter cloud pressed down on the city, threatening to envelop it in eternal gloom. I stood on the corner of 6th Avenue South and Weller Street. Rainwater gushed down the streets along the sidewalks. No matter which direction I turned my umbrella against the wind, water spit into my face. Nature was mocking me. Somewhere the sun was welcoming early risers to a beautiful day.
But not in Seattle.
Fifteen minutes after Alex had left to confront the press, I’d slipped out of his condo.
But I had to admit I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.
A Vietnamese gentleman hurried past me, cradling his precious sack of books to his chest. A lovely Japanese woman in a black raincoat glanced at me, offering a wan smile before burying her face into her scarf and rushing off. I noted the rain pelting her long, black hair, clumped like a wet mop halfway down her back.
Helpless. Once again, I felt helpless.
Someone in Seattle was making monsters.
I hadn’t considered, till I’d hopped onto the bus to Chinatown, how I was going to go about it. I couldn’t just march into one of the local businesses and ask, “Do you have a potion for vampirism?”
After stepping off the bus, I wandered aimlessly for several blocks, trudging up and down the sloping streets, hoping the wind would whisper into my ear, “This is how you go about it.”
That’s how life is, isn’t it. You couldn’t just piece it all together nice and neat, like my grandmother’s quilt. Just pull out the bad stitches and redo them to make them line up nice and even. Or choose the colors so it’d all harmonize nicely. Instead, your beautiful lacey white bedspread gets puked on and you can never get it clean again. The creep was dead and no amount of surgery would likely erase the scars on Helene’s neck nor would her body ever be whole again. Life could be ugly and brutal and sometimes there was nothing you could do about it.
But should I really be hunting monsters? Particularly alone? Was I arrogant? I’d nearly gotten myself killed chasing down evil. Why did I think I cared more than the professionals?
Because I loved Helene deep to the bone since the first day I peered into her bassinet and just couldn’t sit and do nothing.
I’d apologize to Alex. Did it really matter if he believed the serial killer was a vampire or not? He was my security, enveloping me in his arms, bringing a sense of warmth and beauty into a hostile world, which preferred to spew rain on me rather than warm me with sunlight.
Despite attempting to protect myself from the weather, a trickle of rain slipped beneath my collar and down the back of my neck.
I shuddered, not because it was wet and cold but because I suddenly envisioned my face plastered in the newspapers and Internet blogs. Newshounds would soon be tracking me down, baying at my heels.
I turned to survey the graceful black curves adorning the roofline of the nearest restaurant.
Whoever read those news reports would know I was responsible for the death of his murderous creation.
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 20
