Vampire Untitled (Vampire Untitled Trilogy Book 1)
Page 3
The razor moved away from Paul’s face; he couldn’t tell whether he was cut or injured. He just lay passively, shaking under the weight of this grinning sociopath with a razorblade in his fist.
Nealla started talking softly to Paul. The words couldn’t be understood but he said them with a deliberate intent to show who was boss. Talking down to him like a parent speaking to a chastised child. “Ildico, este femeia mea!” Softly, softly, spoken softly.
The razor slipped down Paul’s body. “Ildico, este femeia mea!”
“OK,” Paul gasped. “I understand… Ildico… You.”
“Da!” Nealla said spreading his grin wider to show his badly kept teeth; his mouth looked like a repository of bacteria and broken porcelain. Then the smile dissolved and the razor slipped over Paul’s penis and between his legs. He could feel pressure between his legs, pressing up to his scrotum. Was it the razor, was it a hand. Oh God. Oh God! The femoral artery in the groin. If that gets cut you die in minutes and this crazy psychopath was holding a razor blade to his.
“OK.” Paul said again, almost pleading. “Please… I understand.”
Behind them Ildico stood and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her pullover. Paul saw her brush the snow from her clothes, he saw her look at him, then look at Nealla; then saw as she lost her composure, yelled out in a moan and ran towards them. She was aiming for Nealla, about to throw all the weight her tiny little frame could muster at him… But she hadn’t seen the razor… And Nealla hadn’t seen her… she was about to cause a castration!
Paul flinched, winced and braced for impact. Nealla sensed it at the last moment but it was too late to stop Ildico crashing into him. There was a mess of bodies. Paul on the floor, Nealla over him and Ildico pounding at him with weak fists, swinging them wildly with her eyes tightly shut.
The Big Man stepped over and lifted her away. Nealla was up in an instant and yelling at her, waving the razor around. Paul saw his chance, rolled and stood; Ildico grabbed his arm by the elbow and pulled him, running towards the entrance of the building. In his panic, he tried to push the door rather than pull and for a few terrifying seconds he thought he was locked out.
Behind them, Nealla collected his wits and lit a cigarette. The Big Man and the gormless teenaged boy moved to flank him. The cigarette seemed to signify the end of the game and the loathsome smirking grin was back on his face. Using the same hand as he held the razor, Nealla made a theatrical gesture of taking the cigarette from his lips with the extended blade of the razor held in the same hand. He called out an exaggerated threat that involved making a slice action whilst grabbing his balls and saying the word, ‘testiculele.’ International sign language for, “I’m going to cut your balls off!”
Ildico pulled the door open, pulled Paul inside the building and let the door crash closed behind them.
The buzzing fluorescent strip light flickered into life and Paul sucked in a noisy desperate breath before purging with a moan. He didn’t feel safe. They could come in through that door any second. He backed up the stairs sharply until he had almost the full flight of steps between him and the lobby. He stopped his retreat when he realised Ildico was staring at him.
“Are you OK?”
She nodded.
“Jesus Christ, who is that guy? Jesus fucking Christ!” Paul took a few more steps backwards, half watching Ildico at the bottom and half watching the lobby door. Ildico remained at the foot of the stairs. She behaved as though the game was definitely over, without any fear that Nealla would continue and come inside.
“I am sorry please.” she said. Her face captured the most poignant portrait of shame it was possible to imagine. “I’m sorry.”
Paul sat down on the top stair and examined his crotch; as he opened his legs, a faint line in the denim of his jeans popped open as a razor slice. “Oh fuck. Oh Fuck! That was too fucking close. He could have fucking killed me!”
“Are you ok?” Ildico asked.
“Am I bleeding?” he asked touching his face. “Is there any blood?”
“No. No blood.”
He lifted himself up, using the banister for support and pulling with his arms as though his legs were too exhausted to stand. He felt sick.
“Do you want... should we call the police?” Paul asked. He wanted to. Rather, he wanted her to call and do it and speak and take control.
“Police do nothing for this.” she replied.
“They do nothing?”
“There are no police in Noua, only in Brasov. If they come it is in one hour. If they come.”
The turn of phrase reverberated in Paul’s mind, ‘If they come.’ There was something ominous about this. He was in a location where, in the event of an emergency or crime or trouble, the police would turn up in an hour, if they turned up at all. It made him feel exposed and unprotected.
He looked up the centre of the stairwell, a long and slim spiral of rectangles all the way to the top. What floor was the apartment? Was it six? He began climbing the stairs and looked back to Ildico standing at the bottom. He wanted to invite her up; in different circumstances he would have loved to talk with her some more. She was pretty when she wasn’t crying. When she was crying she looked vulnerable, in need of support, fragile.
“Who is the man outside? Is he your boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?”
“No. He is Nealla. I hate him.”
“He likes you.”
“No, he hates me,” She replied.
“Why does he hate you?”
“Because I won’t be his girlfriend.”
Paul stared at her. She was cold and wet, ashamed and miserable; her mascara had run as two blackened rivers from her eyes and her face was reddened on one side, perhaps from a slap he hadn’t seen. He wanted to be a good strong man and tell her not to worry, but he couldn’t; he couldn’t convince himself not to worry. He wanted to invite her upstairs but had no appetite to face any repercussions. He had no intention of ever going near this crazy Nealla person ever again. The whole focus of Nealla’s rage had seemed to be saying that this girl was his property.
Then again… he couldn’t expect her to go back outside and he couldn’t leave her standing in the entranceway. “Would you like to come up and wait whilst they leave?”
Ildico nodded and started up the stairs towards him. It would have been nice if she’d shown some polite hesitation, perhaps asking, ‘are you sure it’s OK?’ and giving him a chance to reaffirm the offer, but she didn’t. She accepted immediately and began climbing the stairs. Paul realised it was a really bad idea. He’d just been warned and threatened with physical violence against consorting with this girl. This was a stupid thing to do. But what else could he do. Should he tell her to go? Should he heed the warning and have nothing to do with her?
She reached the top of the stairs and said, “Thank you.” It sounded so sincere and heartfelt.
“You’re welcome.” Paul replied.
----- X -----
Try to be cool. Try to say something witty or entertaining. Tell her a joke.
Ildico was sitting at the end of the beige sofa as Paul busied himself rearranging the nested tables around the beige armchair as a way to fill the silence. The walls were cream, the carpet was light brown and the conversation was just as colourful as the decor.
“I want to make a workspace for writing,” he said. Ildico smiled and nodded like this was part of an interesting conversation, but he sensed she was as disappointed as he was. Perhaps that wasn’t true. Something about her seemed innocent. Whenever he spoke she was like a tail wagging puppy, determined to show enthusiasm even though she didn’t understand what he was talking about.
He wanted to say something cool, he wanted to entertain her. He had an empty home and nothing to show. No drink to offer, no story to tell. He was still shaken up by Nealla. How could he talk to a girl moments after being attacked? He could and should because he wanted to. He wasn’t because he wasn’t very good at it and his inner monologue was making excuses.
“You will do your writing here?” Ildico asked.
“Yes.” He replied wishing he had more to say than a single word.
“Are you writing about vampires?”
“Yes, I am. How did you know that?”
“It is what we are famous for. Tourist come in Transylvania for vampires.”
Paul smiled at her.
She was pretty. He’d noticed.
He hadn’t had any sort of liaison with a girl in three months. The last time he had sex was... Nisha... Nisha. He had a flash vision of himself between her legs, her dress hitched up, still wearing white knee-length socks with her knickers hanging from an ankle. For a few moments he tuned-out to relive a dreadful sexual encounter; something best forgotten. But the moment he thought of it, it became the only thing he could think of.
Nisha... still haunting him.
“Do you want to visit Bran?” Ildico asked.
“Huh?” Her voice snapped him back to reality.
“Do you want to visit Bran?” she asked again.
“Castle Bran, do you mean? Dracula’s Castle?”
“Yes. The tourists make it Dracula Castle, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Dracula. It is nice to visit because they have many things for tourists. They have a village for tourist that is very old, they make all house and farm like it is from many hundred years ago. I can take you if you like.”
“That would be helpful.” It was more than helpful, It would be nice, great, wonderful. A day trip with a pretty girl would be fabulous if it weren’t for a psychopath who’d threatened to slice off his balls if he ever spoke to her.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m nineteen,” Ildico replied. Then as an afterthought and with much enthusiasm, “but I’ll be twenty in September.”
Paul rocked his head back and laughed, then caught himself and put a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said trying to hide his grin.
“Why do you laughing?”
Paul smiled as he answered. “It’s January.”
Silence.
“It’s January,” he said again. “It just seems a long time to... you know. If you say I’m nineteen but twenty next month.”
“Ah, you mean I am not close to twenty!”
“Yes.”
Ildico put her hands to her mouth and lifted her knees up to her chest. “I say something stupid, I always say stupid.”
“No, it’s fine, it’s not stupid.”
Ildico laughed with a bit of embarrassment. Paul just smiled, trying and failing to keep a straight face. He needed this respite to break through the dark clouds of the past hour. Having something shared, a moment, an emotion, laughing at something, her embarrassed and him desperate for her not to feel embarrassed was the connection. The common point on which to bond. He looked at her the same way he had outside, looking into her eyes for just a little bit too long and her returning the gaze, extending it. There wasn’t pressure or discomfort to naturally break eye-contact. He could look at her and he was comfortable.
“You know, I haven’t actually had a good look at the apartment yet,” Paul said. “Do you mind if I look around?” He stood up and looked at the painting of Jesus. “When I arrived today, the only thing the landlady spoke about was this picture. She spoke a lot about it.”
Ildico twisted on the sofa to try and see, then stood up beside him for a better look. She stood close. So close that for a moment Paul noticed her elbow brushed against his slightly.
“What did she say?” Ildico asked.
“I don’t know. She said it all in Romanian.”
The painting was large and rather beautiful; styled in that gaudy, over-coloured and over-detailed garishness that signified Eastern Orthodox Christianity. Jesus was among the clouds with rays of sunlight radiating from behind his head. He was wearing red and white robes and was pointing to a human heart that hovered ahead of him. The heart had a cartoonish style which wouldn’t be amiss as a tattoo with a dagger through it, except in this image there was a small cross in the top rather than a dagger. The painting was rich in reds, blues and golden paints and shone like a beacon in a room that otherwise would be entirely soulless.
Paul moved towards the door, Ildico tagged along.
“I never asked,” Paul said, “but what do you do? What’s your work, your job?”
“Not many things now. I used to work at Roman. You know Roman? Man Trucks?”
“I know the American company, Man Trucks.”
“Yes,” Ildico replied. “They made some here in Romania. But they close factory and I lose my job.”
Paul smiled. “I never imagined you building trucks.”
She smiled. “I work in kitchen as cleaner.” She went quiet for a moment then added, “Now I don’t have real job, but I work as baby sitter and sometimes as cleaner in peoples home.”
The carbon copies of some of the contracts he’d signed were still on the kitchen table. He touched them lightly feeling a sting of worry. A pin that pressed against his newly formed bubble of cheerfulness. How badly had the lip glossed money-whore screwed him over on this place? Time would tell. He could ask Ildico to look at them but that felt miserable; it would break the spell. He didn’t want her to explain how he’d overpaid and point out what a fool he was for signing them.
The kitchen was equipped with a few pots and pans as well as a refrigerator and gas cooker. It was small but somehow cosy with a little banquette wrapped around the dining table. Room enough for two. He suspected that it might be better to work in here than the main room. The kitchen had a huge window with a view into the immense courtyard. Like a snow covered car park, it was at least one hundred yards wide and possibly two hundred in length. The snow looked dirty and the tower blocks bordering it looked grey and oppressive. Other than a few parked cars and walled enclosures for the wheelie bins it was empty. Above the towers on the far side, the snow covered mountains could be seen.
His eyes drifted back to the contract copies. “I’m scared I’ve paid too much money today.” He pointed to the paperwork deciding it was better to know now than continue to stress and worry over it. “I had to sign these and pay cash and I have no idea what I’ve signed.”
Ildico picked up the papers and sifted through them. “This is normal, you pay for water and electric and rent and gas. You also pay... how do you say, you pay first before you use it?”
“Pay in advance?”
“Yes. I can see here they make you pay much in advance, so when you leave you pay what is left or they give you back money.”
“Oh, that’s good.” It was good, sincerely. He felt a cloud lifting. “I thought I’d been robbed,” he said.
Ildico walked back to the living room momentarily and returned with a slip of paper torn from his note pad. “I write my telephone number here so if you have problem like signing papers you can call me and I will help.”
Paul pressed his lips together as he tried to hide the surge of emotion. It was such a small and simple gesture, a tiny offer of help, but right now it meant the world to him. He took the slip of paper from her fingers carefully. He spoke softly. “Thank you.”
Continuing the exploration of the apartment he moved through to the bedroom. It was dark and murky with only a tiny window above the single bed. He clicked on the light, a bare bulb cast a cold bluish light. Worryingly, the room smelled musty as though it hadn’t been heated in a long time and he worried there could be mould or fungus growing somewhere. There was a wardrobe made of dark wood with a full length mirror on one of the doors. He pressed down on the bed and found it to be softer than he expected.
The nice surprise was the second smaller room with no furniture; when the landlady had shown him around he spent less than ten seconds in this room, but what she’d failed to show him was underneath the net curtain that draped the entire far wall w
ere French doors that opened to a balcony.
“Oh wow, I’ve got a balcony!” He pushed aside the net curtain and pulled at the door suddenly eager and excited by this surprise discovery. It was stiff, the wooden frame having swollen and warped over the years. “I’ve got a balcony.” He said to Ildico directly.
“I think everybody has a balcony?”
Paul smiled as he stepped outside. “I’ve never had one.” The view was gorgeous. Mountain forests covered in snow. “And I don’t know anyone who ever had one with a view like this!”
On this side of the building there were no blocks to obscure the panorama, only small huts or sheds, single story bungalows and plots of earth that seemed to be small-holdings. The whole side of a forested mountain was directly in view and it was stunning. Bare trees were stripped of their leaves and stood clustered and frozen, their branches iced and dusted in snow. There was a small church with a gold cross at the foot of the mountain and high up the sun had become a soft orange ember, lowering towards the crest of the hill. It was staggeringly beautiful and somehow it made things better.
There was no hot water and there were probably other problems in the apartment. He’d been assaulted and threatened with further assault. But this Christmas card mountain view made him feel better. Much better.
Living here may not be quite so bad after all.
----- X -----
Ildico had left shortly afterwards but not before taking him to a local convenience store a hundred yards or so from the apartment. It was a frightening errand, checking around corners to avoid a repeat confrontation with bad men, but the route was clear. Even for violent lunatics it was too cold to be loitering in the street.
The shop was an odd place where everything was on shelves behind a counter. It sold canned food, bottled water, unsliced bloomers of bread, toilet paper and precious little else. He would have liked to have treated himself to a restaurant but as Ildico explained, such things existed only in the city of Brasov. The best treat the shop offered was a processed sponge cake, the sort of cake in a packet where the cream stays fresh for three months. Noua was devoid of bars, pubs, clubs or restaurants of any kind. She had pointed out that he could get a bus outside the shop that would take him to the centre of Brasov and that there was a payphone another hundred yards or so along the main road; and that was the sum total of amenities in Noua.