Tangled Blood Lines

by Deborah Noel

  Shane walked by on the way to the guest room that had been made his own.

  I didn’t realize I was trembling until I stopped. Declan kissed me softly. I rested my head on the pillow and instantly fell asleep. I vaguely remember Declan pulling the covers up over me.

  I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, waking several times covered in sweat. Dreams kept themselves hidden in the dark recesses of my mind, though their demons troubled my heart without revealing themselves.

  Though I tried as hard as I could to command sleep, I couldn’t achieve it. Declan was not beside me and it was 3:00 a.m.

  I threw my robe on and checked on the girls. Both were sound asleep.

  Passing Shane’s room, I peeked in and found his room empty.

  In half a trance, I meandered downstairs. The office door was closed. I didn’t bother to see if it was occupied.

  On auto-pilot I poured myself a glass of milk and went out the back doors to the patio. The glass dropped from my hand and shattered at my feet. I couldn’t bring myself to scream. A greenish yellow reflection of what appeared to be a pair of eyes in the wood line held my gaze. Intently. I just couldn’t seem to get oxygen to filter into my lungs. My vocal cords seemed to be frozen solid, unable to vibrate to create my voice. I blinked.

  The reflection in the wood line was gone. Only the darkness stared back at me.

  Normally anytime I felt fear, Declan was usually quick to be at my side. To my surprise, this time he wasn’t at my side the minute fear ran rampant through me.

  For a split second an unexpected jolt of strength overwhelmed me. I was a strong person. I usually backed down from nothing, having that stubborn Irish streak in my bloodline. If I allowed this fear to consume and rule me, I would surely lose to whatever the forces that be. That would only give it power over me.

  “Step up!” I told myself out loud.

  Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself walking across my back yard towards the trees that bordered my home. With each step I seemed to inhale more vigorously.

  I stepped into the woods. Without pausing I walked further into the denseness of the brush. Somehow I focused my eyes scrutinizing all hiding places that were before me.

  Low to the ground I caught a reflection of eyes, “Back off!” I hissed firmly toward them.

  A small possum revealed itself as it turned its back to me and scurried away at my command.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That is what I had been afraid of?”

  I turned and headed back inside.

  About halfway across the yard, I tripped over a lump on the ground. It was mushy under my toes. I bent down to see what it was.

  The lump hissed at me. I jumped backwards, nearly falling over my own feet.

  Though it didn’t move, the scoffing was so exaggerated and amplified to make itself seem so much bigger. I cautiously moved in for a closer look. It was a bloody paralyzed baby possum.

  I froze.

  With a deep breath, I slowly turned to face the wood line.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Declan’s voice was panicked in my head, “Cianna!”

  “Mommy,” echoed Declan’s distress.

  “Kid, open your eyes if you can hear us,” Sam’s voice took control.

  I obeyed. I was on the lounge chair with no memory of how I got there or why I was even outside.

  I looked to Mattie, “What are you doing up so late?”

  Her eyes widened at my question, then she looked up to her daddy standing beside her. I could tell Declan was telling her something within the confines of her mind. Declan then leaned over and whispered in her ear. Marcy was next to her and heard what Declan had said. She took Mattie by the hand and led her inside.

  My husband sat down beside me. He stroked my hair from away my face, gently pushing a few strands from my eyes.

  “My Darling, it’s morning and the girls found you laying out here when they came down to start breakfast.”

  It was then that I realized that it was no longer dark, but actually quite bright.

  He smiled at me, “So, whatcha doing?”

  I searched my mind.

  “Well, I woke up earlier, came outside and I guess I fell back asleep here,” I explained.

  Sam clapped his hands together, “Okay then. I’m hungry. Breakfast is calling.”

  Declan and I remained behind. I quickly recounted the happenings of the night before to Declan and he chalked it up to coincidence. I gave it some more thought and decided that was a good enough explanation. It certainly wasn’t top priority for my mind to think about. I questioned Declan as to where he had been in the early morning hours. He said he was in the office that I had never checked. He wasn’t able to sleep and was going through his email, among other things.

  “Which by the way, the Dethstares are expecting us for an early dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  Mattie brought out a plate of freshly sliced oranges. I opened my arms and invited her in for a squeeze. She squeezed me tight and giggled when I blew raspberries in her neck.

  The rest of the morning passed uneventfully.

  The day slipped right by. Declan and I got ready for our dinner date and Sam took the girls to the movies so Shane could meet up with some friends.

  We made it to the restaurant early, so we sat at the bar for a cocktail.

  A few minutes later Bolton entered accompanied by a tall, dark-haired, beautiful woman. They complemented each other perfectly. Both seemed to have stepped out of an ancient century, so exquisitely were they dressed. She wore a long black dress, replete with lace all along the plunging neckline. Her sleeves came to a wide ruffle mid-palm. She was saved tripping over the floor-length hem of the dress by her sky-high stiletto heels. A knitted shawl covered her shoulders. Her shining black hair hung down to the center of her back, all one length. Bolton wore a navy blue pin-striped seer-sucker suit and an ascot tie.

  Although I felt underdressed in my tea-length yellow pastel dress with my black “clapper” shoes, Declan seemed he could have cared less. He always looked good in his sports jacket, polo shirt and khakis and better yet, he was always perfectly comfortable.

  They joined us at the bar. Introductions were made, hands were shaken and first impressions were established.

  Bolton ordered drinks for the both of them. I asked Morticina how she was enjoying her time in America. In very broken English she said she loved it so far. This was her second time in the States.

  With the help of her husband, she complimented me on my dress and how the layers of my hair perfectly framed my face. She told Declan how lucky he was to have me by his side.

  She was quite captivating and even her own husband hung on her every word.

  The maitre d' informed us that our table was ready. On the way to the table, Morticina’s cell phone rang inside her purse. She excused herself to take the call while we followed the maitre d' to the table. I asked where the bathrooms were and followed directions to the ladies’ room.

  Before I rounded the corner, I heard German. I knew it was Morticina on the phone. Getting only her side I listened as she spoke in German.

  “Hast du jetzt wieder gemacht? (What did you do now?)

  “Lucas, warum musst du uns nur immer soviel Kummer machen? (Why must you always make such trouble for us?)

  “Wer ist dieser Mann, von dem du redest? (Who is this man that you speak of?)

  “Ich weiß nichts von ihm. (I do not know of him.)

  “Hat dein Vater ihn schon kennen gelernt? (Has your father met him?)

  “Warum kannst du dich nicht einfach benehmen? (Why can’t you just behave?)

  “Sohn, du musst aufhören, deinem Vater und mir alles kaputt zu machen. (Son, you need to not cause such havoc for your father and me.)

  “Es ist eine Schande. (It is a disgrace.)

  “Du wirst uns ungewollte Schwierigkeiten bereiten. (You are going to bring unwanted hardship to us.)

  “Wir haben dich hierher gesch
ickt um dem Aufruhr im Schwarzwald zu entgehen. (We sent you here to escape the turmoil in Black Forest.)

  “Hast du nicht schon genug angestellt? (Haven’t you done enough?)

  “Wo ist dein Bruder? (Where is your brother?)

  “Was habt ihr mit den Mädchen gemacht? (What have you done with the girls?)

  “Ich will mit ihr sprechen. (I want to speak to her.)

  “Ich sage dir, sorge dafür, dass er sich regelt. (I tell you now, keep him in line.)

  “Tu was nötig ist. (Do what it takes.)”

  I heard the flip of the phone. I was surprised how many of the words I recognized in German. Not all of them, but enough to get the jist of the one-sided conversation. I felt guilty for eavesdropping.

  I quickly turned the corner as if I had just been heading to the bathroom.

  I smiled at Morticina as I entered the lavatory.

  “You are lucky to have no sons,” she said as she made her way back to the table.

  Her statement troubled me for a split second, though I couldn’t figure out why. As a mother, my heart ached for her troubles.

  I returned to the dinner table. Any distress Morticina harbored she hid well. Drinks were already around the table. Bolton had taken the liberty to order them for us. Declan asked Bolton how he had gotten into the funeral parlor business. Bolton explained that it had been passed down to him through his wife’s family. The Black Forest Funeral Parlor in Germany had been in the family for at least ten generations Morticina explained. Bolton was surprised himself, how much he loved his occupation. The parlor here in the States was opened just ten years ago. Bolton had always had a fascination with the tranquility of how he saw the States to be. So they took the gamble and so far it paid off. The two businesses were booming.

  A waitress came up to the table and took our food order.

  As we relaxed into each other’s company, Declan and Bolton took over the dinner conversation. They spoke of their livelihoods. Bolton seemed very interested in detective work. Declan explained that he was semi-retired and helped out when Sam was against the wall. Every time Declan tried to talk about the funeral business it seemed that Bolton would fidget.

  Morticina was quiet, listening to the men and chiming in when she deemed it appropriate. Her broken English was bogged down with such a thick German accent it was almost impossible to understand her. She paused for Bolton to help her with the right word or the pronunciation of an English word.

  She leaned in across the table to get closer to me and explained that she was trying to learn English, but retreating to her natural language was much easier. I confessed that I had tried my hand at learning German for our dinner date. We laughed together. She asked me how many children I had. She rolled her eyes and told tales of when her boys were young and how she had always wanted a daughter to call her own.

  The subject was changed and we began to talk of food. We even traded a few quick easy recipes. Personal email addresses were swapped.

  Dinner was almost finished when a strange man walked up to the table’s edge. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and his almost black eyes focused on Bolton. He stood no more than 5’5” but it was in his stature that he seemed tall enough to be looking down at everyone around him. He was husky. He was dressed in a manner that spoke wealth, in trousers that looked as though they just came off the ironing board. He wore a buttoned down pale dress shirt with the collar double starched and silver chest hair fighting to show itself through the opened top button. My nose burned from the heavy amount of expensive cologne emanating off of his sports jacket. His dark hair was peppered with grey streaks and groomed tight to his head. His mustache was better manicured than his fingers and his goatee beard that hung inches off his chin. He appeared to be in his fifties, but his hands told the tale of his age being much older. Penny-loafers covered his sockless feet.

  He cleared his throat.

  Bolton and Morticina both looked up to meet the man’s eyes. I thought I watched Morticina try to catch her breath.

  He directed his question to Bolton and in a firm German voice he asked, “Gibt es irgendein Problem? (Is there a problem?)”

  Bolton reached over and soothed his wife’s leg from under the table.

  “Rogi.”

  “Bolton,” the man responded then looked at Morticina.

  He leaned in and kissed her left cheek, then her right. “Morticina.”

  Morticina forced a smile, “What a pleasure, Rogi.”

  He looked back to Bolton.

  “Es gibt kein problem. Es ist schon erledigt. Es gibt nichts mehr, worum wir uns kümmern müssen,” Bolton answered the man’s question. (“There is no problem. It has been addressed. There will be nothing further to take care of.”)

  “Wenn der Junge noch mehr Ärger verursacht, werde ich einschreiten. Halte ihn unter Kontrolle, oder ich werde ihm den Kopf zurechtsetzen,” Rogi replied. (“If the boy causes any more trouble, I will step in. Control him or I will set him straight.”)

  Bolton narrowed his eyes to the man. Beside him, his wife tensed.

  “Where are my manners,” Bolton said in English. “Rogi, these are my dinner guests, Declan Fitzgerald and his wife, Cianna.”

  The man obviously didn’t care at all who we were.

  He finally turned his attention to us and extended his hand to Declan.

  “Sir.”

  Declan took the man’s hand in his.

  The shake didn’t last long and I wasn’t sure who was quicker to end it, my husband or this stranger standing beside me. I looked at Declan’s face. It was expressionless. A quick flash of fear ran over me and I quickly put up my mind’s wall.

  The man leaned in and kissed each of my cheeks and greeted me, ”Gnädige Frau.” (Ma’am)

  His touch was cold, void of feeling and over-rehearsed. Curiosity got the better of me, “Rogi, that is quite a unique name.”

  Morticina’s eyes grew with caution and fear.

  The man’s gaze quickly turned to stone.

  Then his face softened slightly, “It is a family name. It is Russian, how do you say,” he paused searching for the right word, “custom for the first born son to be given the name of respect and strength of his paternal grandfather.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I smiled. “Your family must be proud of your namesake, and you, to share it with you.”

  He looked at confused, then turned to Bolton.

  Bolton nodded his head and in German translated my words, “Eine gute Tradition, Sie müssen stolz darauf sein.” (Good tradition,; you must be proud.)

  “Es ist mir eine Ehre,” the man responded to Bolton. (It is an honor for me.)

  Bolton looked to me, “He is very proud to have his grandfather’s name and honored.”

  He took my hand in his, “Please, excuse me for interrupting your dinner. My business is finished here.”

  I smiled. He released my hand and turned back to Bolton and Morticina.

  He grew stern again, “Das ist die einzige Warnung.” (This is your only warning.)

  They both nodded. The man left, and though I hadn’t consciously thought about it while he was there,; the air that seemed to have been holding its breath released in his absence.

  Morticina seemed to have lost a million pounds off of her shoulders as her eyes followed the visitor towards the doors. Bolton leaned in for a quick brush of his lips against her cheek.

  Without realizing, she started a rant, “Dieser Junge ist noch mein Tod. Lucas war äußerst rücksichtslos, als er tat, was er getan hat. Ich erlaube nicht, dass Rogis Zorn über unser Haus kommt. Noch ein falscher Schritt, und ich übergebe ihn Rogi persönlich.” (This boy will be the death of me. Lucas had no regard to do what he did. I will not allow the wrath of Rogi to come down upon our house. One more step out of line, I will turn him over to Rogi myself.)

  Bolton jumped in before she could continue, in his native language, “Wir können das zu Hause regeln.” (We can deal with this at home.)


  Bolton turned his attention across the table to Declan and I.

  “My deepest apologies. Seems my son and his friends have caused some trouble.”

  Declan chimed in, “Can I help?”

  Bolton smiled, “No my friend. Rogi is a top ranking official from Black Forest where the children had bitten off more then they should have and found themselves in trouble. We brought our sons here to get them away from the trouble. Apparently, it has followed them here.”

  “Well, if I can help,” Declan offered again.

  “Your offer is appreciated.”

  And with that the conversation was over.

  When Bolton asked for the dinner check from the waitress, she informed us that the man who was standing at the table had insisted on picking up the tab.

  She added that his tip was generous. She brought over a tray with one more drink for each of us, “The gentleman insisted one last round.”.

  When we finished our drinks, we parted from our guests with plans to meet again soon. Bolton invited Declan over to tour the funeral parlor business.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When we got home, Sam had everything under control. He reported the girls had finished their homework. They had even played a game of Mouse Trap before bed. Sam and Declan talked business in an abbreviated form. Sam said that he had run missing persons reports and found none that matched the vampire’s latest victims.

  I left them in the office and went upstairs to check on the girls. There was a knock on the front door that caught me off guard. I opened the door and it was two girls who looked familiar to me. I searched their faces and my mind and quickly remembered them from the beach with Bolton, his sons’ girlfriends – Chloe, with Emily standing behind her. I immediately wondered why they were at my front door.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” they chimed together.

  I was taken aback that they knew who I was, let alone where I lived.