by Angel Lawson
"Knock it off, Grant," Ryan said glancing back towards the crime scene. They were loading Laurel’s body into a black canvas bag to take to the morgue. How would the authorities blame this one on an animal? This far in town? “What does it mean?”
“It means that everything about this case just got infinitely more complicated.” Caleb had stepped into territory he was unequivocally not prepared for. His list of enemies just tripled. I stared at the lifeless body below. “Her name is Laurel. She’s a Melungeon from Lost Cove.”
“Holy shit. The Shifters?”
“Yes. Caleb, intentionally or not, just started a war.”
Chapter 8
Amelia
The minute Grant shut the door I moved to the battered trunk. The once smooth sides were scarred and dinged, held together with not only tarnished brass straps and rivets, but a heavy layer of black electrical tape. I ran my hands over the worn leather, fingering the brass lock for a moment before I pushed in the old fashioned key and listened to the latch release. As I pushed the box into two sections, I was amazed by the size of the container. The trunk held small drawers and even what was once used as a hanging rack for clothing. The inside walls were lined with a faded and yellowing fabric that was surprisingly well preserved.
“Okay, Mr. Palmer, show me what you’re really hiding.” Kneeling in front of the box, I methodically opened the drawers and cabinets. It was no surprise that everything was neatly organized. Passports and travel documents were neatly stored inside and often affixed with photographs of the same, never changing, hauntingly beautiful face. As I scanned the paperwork, I found that some had the name Palmer while others carried a different name, Hamilton. He appeared to use them interchangeably. I eagerly flipped through the pages and noted that from stamps and writing inside the little leather booklets, it was clear he had seen the world many times over.
Ticket stubs, train passes, programs from countless plays, and gallery openings, filled the cloth pockets that lined the back walls of the trunks.
And then I found the journals.
Neatly stacked on the bottom of the trunk, I found that Grant had amassed a century’s worth of journals, documenting his travels and stops along the way. They were bound chronologically, pocket sized, recording each incarnation of his life. Before I opened the first cracked and peeling book, I stopped myself for a moment and wondered if this was for me to read, if Grant was okay with the intrusion. But he had given me the key and he must have known what I would find. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to know him.
Stretching out on the floor with my stomach flat on the plush carpet, I opened the first book and found Grant's familiar, elegant script filling the yellowing pages. The edges were brittle and I held my breath flipping the pages, worried they may disintegrate into dust.
I pushed my hair over my shoulder and read his words in the first journal, one he’d started nearly eight years after changing, after he and Miles had become companions. I had to admit I was curious about the first years—the ones he mentioned earlier that night. When killing was as much for sport as for feeding. I supposed I understood why those weren’t memories to keep in a journal, though.
October 14th, 1926
Miles and I have traveled to the small town of Milford, PA. We had heard rumors of suspicious murders and The Council sent us in to investigate. The journey from Cleveland was long. We traveled strictly at night. By the time we made it to Milford there had been three separate deaths, each concluded to be an animal attack…The local police were unhelpful, foolishly believing they have the situation under control. Unfortunately for them they were easily manipulated by my compulsion to reveal details about the case. Sometimes being a vampire has its benefits…
March 1st, 1935
Discovered a pattern that fit our profile, leading Miles and I to travel to New Hampshire. A series of murders up and down the rail line, littering the small towns that dot the upper North West. One to two killings per town. Drained and disposed of. The bodies were cared for, left clean and easy to find. The vampire (s) must be nomadic and leave town quickly after their kill. Looking for the connecting piece to figure out their next move.
March 13th, 1935
The carnival! That’s the missing piece of the puzzle. Each stop equals a death. The killer must be with the crew or at least using them as a cover. We’ve tracked down the show and are watching—waiting for the vampire’s next move. It shouldn’t be long.
March 14th, 1935
Miles is bloody. I’m exhausted, but we caught the two killers before they killed another innocent. We tracked them from the fair, two boys—brothers it would seem, slipped away from their rail car toward the outskirts of town. One of the boys is enormous—almost a cartoonish version of the side-show Strong Man. The other smaller with a vicious scar down his face. They’ve both been turned—and although they are no longer feral they are not in complete control of their abilities. We caught up with them and a fight ensued. Thank goodness we had experience and talent on our side. The giant could have easily snapped our necks.
Using my compulsion I was able to calm them and lure them back to the abandoned farmhouse we are staying in. Miles is convinced they are worthy of our focus and potential recruits for The Council.
June 1943
New Orleans
The level of poverty in Louisiana is overwhelming which makes it a perfect place for me to work. How could these facilities say no to an educated psychiatrist willing to help the less fortunate and mentally ill? The members of society so easily cast away?
Miles and the twins have continued their work with The Council, attempting to civilize the American Vampire community. They’ve made great strides. Small covens are forming across the country—taking more efforts to live peacefully with humans. Most have not taken to a vegetarian or “no kill” diet, but Miles is hopeful. While they focus on this, I have submersed myself into the deplorable world of mental health. Maybe this time I can make a difference.
July 1943
New Orleans
Something about this city is getting to me. Maybe it’s the mix of cultures. The pervasive religion. You’d think it would be freeing but the opposite is true. It makes me paranoid. Worried about what hovers in the darkness. Am I the most dangerous thing here? Normally the answer is yes. Demons run deep in this city. Death a constant reminder—and not just from villains like myself.
My work occupies most of my time. The hospital is overcrowded. The patients understaffed. I do what I can to make them more comfortable but the lack of funding, medication, and advanced practices make it difficult.
June 26, 1950-New York
Following my time in New Orleans I decided to take a break from the medical field and seek enlightenment. For many this would be a return to Europe but exciting things are happening in the world of art and music in New York City. I’ve managed to spend time with many modern masters—Pollock and Rothko. Jack Kerouac’s words and voice fill my mind. Allen Ginsberg’s poetry. They push the limits of their minds, their art and their bodies.
I want to do the same. I feel trapped in the body of a man when I am so much more. I have the strength of a hundred men—the mind of a genius. I can convince anyone to do my bidding. I could rule men. I could possess any woman I wanted. Yet, I’ve made a foolish oath to Miles and The Council that ties me down.
I want more.
July 8th, 1950-New York
Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.—Allen Ginsberg
These words speak to me and I refuse to hide any longer. I am a monster—a demon. A drinker of blood. The taker of life.
The first drop was pure ecstasy.
The second a rush of power.
The third—I hope to never return.
January 10th, 1951
I followed her from work, making quiet noises to get her heart racing. Why? She had no particular appeal. Her pulse beat with a steady rhythm. She’d crossed my path when I was hungry. Or simply bored. She was
easy. So very, very easy.
I left her in the back of a car near the river. Neck snapped. Eyes pale and lifeless.
Maybe the next one will satiate the craving.
His words jarred me. The script was the same, even the language but not the tone. Page after page, Grant documented every kill—every temptation. He was a cold blooded killer—merciless. There was no limit to his vicious behavior. Women, men, children. The old and weak—the young and healthy. It was all a game.
No wonder he was so caught up in the cat and mouse Caleb continued to play. What do they say? Once an addict always an addict?
“Oh God,” I said, clamping my hand over my mouth. I grabbed my things and left the journals on the couch. I’d made a terrible, horrible mistake.
Chapter 9
Amelia
“Nice shirt,” Drew said. Yelled, really. He was sitting next to Jess at a table on the back patio of the bar. It was crowded and noisy. I waved to Jess and Thomas, noticing a pretty blonde sitting with them. Huh, maybe Thomas finally found a girlfriend. Good for him.
I looked down. “Crap. I totally forgot to take it off before I left work.”
“Work? When did you start back?”
“Today.” I waved over the waitress and ordered a drink. No, shots. Five of them. I needed something to settle my nerves and going home alone wasn’t going to do it. I needed to be out with people. Real people, not genetically superior, murderous vampires acting like people.
“And you had a reason to change clothes? More patio scrubbing?”
“No. It’s stupid. And just…I need to get away from that place. For good.”
Drew gave me a skeptical look. One I probably deserved. How many times now had I tried to leave the Palmer Foundation? How many times had I gone back? Talk about addictive behavior.
“What happened now?” he asked.
What happened? I couldn’t tell him. Not a thing. I’d promised Grant that night in the forest I would never tell his secret. “This thing with Grant is intense, like more so than any relationship I’ve ever had,” I tell him. “Not only is it intense but it may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. He’s not like a normal person.”
“Duh, he’s super-hot and mega rich.”
“He’s also incredibly flawed and the more I find out about him the more I worry it may be too much for me. I’m just not sure I fit into his world and I’m not sure I can keep true to myself if I try to.”
Drew nodded in understanding. “What do you want to do, because I’m not a fan of you changing yourself for a guy?”
The waitress returns with five small glasses of brown liquid. I drown the first two quickly, fighting back the burn. Drew raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Maybe the alcohol would numb the feelings I had about the insane things I learned in Grant’s journals.
Holy shit, the journals. Grant was a hundred and nineteen years old. He was a murderer. And, at the same time some kind of bizarre humanitarian. He left those books for me to read—knowing I would discover the truth. I picked up the third shot and said to my best friend, “I feel like I have to choose between safe and stupid.”
Drew narrowed his eyes and watched me swallow the drink. “Am I going to need to get a shirt that says, ’I’m with stupid?’ Because I really don’t want to.”
“Why is this so complicated? I mean, I’m not the type to have a lot of drama, you know? Like, I’d never date a professor or any sort of authority figure. What made me even get into all this in the first place?”
“Uh…I know I keep saying this, but Grant Palmer is very good looking. No one is going to blame you for a momentary mental break when it comes to him. Just claim you were dickmatized.”
A shadow passed over the two of us and a guy slid into the empty seat next to mine. He tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sorry for interrupting, but did you say something about Grant Palmer?”
I glanced at Drew who shrugged. I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’m a business grad at UNC and he is pretty much my idol,” he said. I took a better look at him and found that he was around our age with short blondish-brown hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a Polo style shirt and khaki pants. A little formal for this bar, although on second glance, I did notice a smudge of dirt on the toe of his boat shoes.
“Oh yeah,” Drew said. “Amelia works for him.”
“No way,” he said, smiling big.
“I’m just his assistant—it’s not a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? You get to work directly with him. He’s like a God in the financial world.”
I turned my head and muttered, “Too bad he’s an ass in the real world.”
“What was that?” He frowned.
“He’s an asset to the world—you know, with all the charity stuff.”
“Yes, that, too. His contributions are well noted.”
Drew gave me a weird look and said, “While you guys talk work and stuff. I’m going to hit the bar. I’ll bring you another drink, Mel.”
“Sure, okay.” I looked over at the Grant Palmer lover and felt the room spin a little. “Maybe just a Coke.”
“You drink all those?” he said.
I ignored him and asked, “So what’s your name?”
“Joe.”
“Well, other than my boss, what are you into?”
“Oh you know, the standard—music and sports,” he said. “Tell me, what’s it like working for Mr. Palmer?”
“He’s uh…” Arrogant. A jerk. Obsessive. Adorable… “I signed an NDA. I’m really not supposed to talk about him at all. To anyone.”
“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed. “That makes sense. I’ve heard he’s pretty quiet.”
I nodded and took a shot at changing the subject. “What kind of business do you want to get into?”
Joe started rambling about management or contract work or something. God, this was worse than Batman vs. Superman, I thought, and drank the final shot. “Amelia?” I heard through the foggy burn of booze.
“Yeah?” I asked, trying to focus a little more clearly on Joe. I squinted and considered that he wasn’t bad looking.
He leaned close to my ear and said, “I need you to tell your boss something.”
I snorted. “My boss doesn’t listen to me—he doesn’t listen to anyone.” I looked around in an exaggerated fashion and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone but he’s sort of a prick.”
Joe laughed, showing his teeth. “I bet he is. Dumb, too.”
I started to laugh with him but stopped myself. “He’s an asshole and maybe a little dangerous but I wouldn’t call him dumb.”
“No?” he asked. I felt his fingers on my neck, pushing my hair over my shoulder. “He let you out of his sight didn’t he? Not very smart when a killer is on your trail.”
My gut rolled. “A what?”
“You heard me,” he said as his fingers tightened around my neck. His mouth was close to mine, making it appear like we were in the middle of an intimate moment. “Caleb isn’t ready for you yet, sweetheart, but only because he’s mourning the loss of his mate. I’ve stepped up, moving into Sasha’s role, which means I’ll be watching you now.”
Fear took over, but now that I understood who these people were—what they were, and were capable of, I shut down. “What do you want?”
“For you to deliver your boss a message.” He rolled his eyes at the word boss, clearly having a better understanding of our relationship than I did. “Every day he keeps what rightfully belongs to Caleb, is another day you both risk losing someone you care about.”
Joe released my neck and I frantically searched the bar for Drew. I found him leaving the counter and he caught my eye. I shook my head, I didn’t want him over here but he raced in my direction, the fizzy soda splashing over the rim of the glass.
I glanced at the chair next to me and it was empty. Joe had disappeared.
Oblivious Drew said, “See that guy over there?” He pointed to the doorway between the deck and the bar. “I
think he’s looking for you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he came up to me and said, “Where’s Amelia?” I don’t know how he knows who I am. But God, he’s terrifying.” I searched the room again and spotted Ryan walking in my direction.
“Oh boy,” I muttered and jumped up to meet him. The alcohol hit my brain the second my feet hit the ground and I teetered, grabbing for the back of the chair to hold steady.
“Do you know who that is?” Drew asked.
“Yeah, I know.” Sheer relief washed over me at the sight of Ryan. How could I be so stupid not to see that Joe was one of…them?
Ryan stopped in front of me and I said, “He just left.”
He sniffed the air twice—quickly. Then he pushed back my hair and grimaced. “Stay here. I’m serious, Amelia, do not move.” He looked at Drew. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Drew nodded, eyes wide, and watched Ryan disappear into the crowd. He turned to me and said, “What the hell was that?”
Something Olivia said a while back popped into my head. “Welcome to the world of Grant Palmer. Tickets to the freak show are on your right.”
~*~
Ryan escorted me to my car in a dark parking lot down the street from the bar. Without asking he took the keys and sat down in the driver’s seat. Fair enough. I’d had enough to drink to take that option off the table.
“Your place or his?” he asked, shaking his head at the sputtered start of my car.
“His,” I said without the slightest bit of hesitation. Was there really any question? I knew in my heart there wasn’t and not just because I was afraid. Being with Grant was where I wanted to be, no matter how foolish it may seem.
To his credit, Ryan didn’t respond to my answer. He also didn’t say much about what happened after he left me and Drew at the bar but I didn’t think he caught Joe. The tense set of his jaw and shoulders told me that much.
