by P. J. Burgy
“Oh, yeah, those two…”
“A vampire. Imagine that. Crazy kids.”
“Crazy,” Lizzie said. “Can I ask you something quick?”
“Hm?”
“At the gallery, when you saw Martin…”
“Your hunky boss, eh?”
“Ah, Margo…”
She sighed. “Go on.”
Lizzie cleared her throat. “You said he looked like he was hunting, remember? Like a predatory animal.”
“Oh, girl, I was just being silly. A fine lookin’ sex machine like that got my blood riled up. I was hoping to sneak him home later.” Margo laughed.
“So, you were joking?”
“I ‘spose. He had a look on his face like he came for something besides art, and people like that don’t move into towns like ours. Figured since he was alone that he’d moved to get away from it all. Maybe a divorce. Maybe some legal trouble. Whatever it is, he’s got somethin’, a secret, and I read it on him the instant he walked in.”
“You’re very intuitive, Margo.”
“Ain’t I? Girl, people think I’m dumb, but they don’t know shit. You know I took acting lessons…”
“I remember.”
“And Martin’s an actor. I saw that right off. That’s why I said what I said. He came to town with something else in mind. I might never know, unless you tell me,” Margo said. “Which I think you want to, right? That’s why you asked.”
“Ah…”
“Hm?”
Lizzie organized her thoughts carefully, squeezing the fabric of her pajama pant leg. “If Martin were a killer…”
“What? Come on now.”
“I mean, if he were…”
“If? If that then what? You think he murdered those women, Lizzie? Does he look like a psychopath?”
“Someone doesn’t have to look like a killer to be one.”
“He’s too classy. Too laid back. Definitely not a killer.”
Lizzie sighed. “Okay.”
“Why? What’s got you all worked up?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar!”
Lizzie closed her eyes. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Martin, you know. Tommy hated it.”
“And you feel bad now because Tommy is missing? Right? You feel guilty for falling for another man?”
“Ah, well…”
“That’s what it is. Sweetie, I’m not gonna rag on Tommy ‘cause I know it hurts and you’re broken up over it, and it wouldn’t be right of me to make light. But he wasn’t any good for you, and you know it. Martin’s a handsome fellow. Handsome and, from what you’ve said, attentive. Always wants to talk and see you. Supports you. Yeah, it’d be hard not to fall for someone like that when you had the opposite leavin’ a permanent indent on the couch at home.” Margo exhaled. “You’re looking for a reason to push him away.”
“Well,” Lizzie began, stumped for words.
“I mean, do you know something about Martin?”
“Do I? I…”
“Did you find a body in his basement?”
“No, but…”
“Then just relax. They’ll find Tommy. You can break up with him when he wanders back home. He’s probably safe somewhere wanting you to feel worried. Remember when he disappeared for two days because you had a fight? Wanted you to beg for forgiveness so he pretended to be in crisis and missing? Flipped when the cops picked him up for a wellness check? Blamed you?”
Lizzie stiffened. She did remember. “Mm.”
“You know what he did? I bet he did that trick from the movie, ah, with the evil hotel. The Shining. Remember when that kid did the backwards walkin’ through the snow in the maze? Well, maybe Tommy did that and got into another car. He has friends from down south. Did you check the road for tire marks, eh?”
“No.”
“Well?”
“And was he mad at you when he went missing?”
“We’d had a fight about Martin.”
“Boom. He’s in Pittsburgh hiding out. Not even callin’ his mommy and daddy because he’s made the news and he’s scared shitless. Picked a bad time to fake a kidnapping, what with an actual killer being on the prowl in our town.”
Her chest grew warmer. “You… might be right.”
“Bet your ass, I’m right,” Margo said. “Girl, I watch all those shows about criminal investigations.”
“You cited a horror movie, Margo. I didn’t even think you’d watch something like that.”
She scoffed. “I had to! A date popped in the DVD. I just happened to catch that part. Don’t remember the beginning.”
“I appreciate your wisdom.”
“You should. Ah, I think there’s someone in the store. I’ll talk to you later, hun. Have a good one, okay? And stop worrying. Maybe see if Martin’s down to lay some pipe because Lord knows you need it.”
“Ah! Margo!”
“Love you, girrrrlll.” Margo hung up.
Lizzie stared at her phone and signed into her laptop. The first thing she searched for online was ‘vampires’. Scrolling through the lore on the pages she browsed, she recognized many of the tropes she’d seen in movies and television – even a few books.
Scary vampires. Sexy vampires. She read various descriptions and adaptations of the original mythos for a few hours, brows low and lips pursed.
Chapter 10
He had gotten her food again – the exact same thing from the exact same place – and it sat on new plates at the end of the dining room table. She took a seat, and he did as well, directly across from her with his hands folded. He’d dressed nice, as he always did. She’d worn a tee and jeans.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to,” she said.
“I felt that I owed you a meal. You didn’t finish the other one and you left in a hurry…”
She swirled the red wine in the glass. “So, tell me. About you. Please.”
Martin nodded solemnly. He had the sleeves of his red silk shirt rolled up along his strong forearms, the top few buttons under his collar undone and exposing his chest. His hair was wet again. “What I said the other night is true. I’m a six-hundred year old vampire. I travel from place to place. I have a deep adoration for artists and creative types since I am incapable, being what I am. There’s not much to say really.”
Her hand trembled and she put the glass down before she could drop it. “Did you kill those women, Martin?”
He looked up at her. “Yes.”
“I read about the first one. Her head…”
“To prevent a worse fate from befalling her, I assure you. And the same for the second…”
“Phoebe. And Tina. They had names.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Why?”
“I have to eat, Lizzie. Preferably once a night, but I can go a week or so if need be. It’s unpleasant but I can,” Martin said. “After a week, I can’t rely on my wits to be sharp.”
“And Frank? Did you kill him?”
“The male? Yes.”
“And you drank their blood?”
“Yes.”
She shivered. “Did they die… afraid?”
“No. I calmed them first.”
She nodded. “Okay. Um, so, why… them?”
“They were alone and fit my prey preference.”
Her nose crinkled. “Prey preference? What do you mean?”
“A certain aesthetic and scent. Hard to explain.”
“Do you have, ah, fangs?”
“When I feed.”
“Can I see?”
He eyed her warily and nodded. Martin opened his mouth as if to grimace. At first, nothing appeared to happen. And then, bulging out from the pale gums above his canines, a pair of sharp teeth pushed out, somehow shoving the smaller canines away and under the new fangs. The sound was soft but sickening, like dried chicken bones cracking.
“Oh.” She sat up, fork dropping.
He displayed his fangs, his tongue kept out of the way. The blue of his irises
darkened, nearly shifting to black, and the pupils disappeared only to be replaced by two glimmering pinpricks of white. His eyes closed, his lips clamping shut. Martin made an unhappy noise in his throat and kept his head down for the next few moments.
“Martin?” she asked.
He lifted his chin, eyes back to normal. When he spoke, his fangs had receded. “I will hide nothing from you.”
“Did you kill Tommy, Martin?”
He blinked once at her. “No.”
She wrung her hands, staring down at the mess on her plate – bright red sauce on a pale white surface. “I needed to ask. I’m sorry. I had to know.”
“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you, Lizzie,” Martin said. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“I don’t know how to feel right now.” She swallowed thickly. “You kill people, Martin. You… drink their blood?”
“I do.”
“Don’t you feel bad?”
“Not anymore. Humans are food.”
“I’m human.”
“But you aren’t food,” he said. “You’re different. Creative. Special. I would never feed on you.”
“Would you turn me into a vampire?”
“No, never.” He shook his head. “You’d lose your spark. Taking your gifts from you would be worse than killing you.”
“My silver necklace – you wanted me to take it off. Silver hurts you?”
“Silver burns, yes.”
“And the sun?”
“That’d kill me. I’ve had a few close calls in the past. Set ablaze at dawn. I escaped underground until nightfall.” He grimaced. “Highly unpleasant.”
“Crosses and crucifixes?”
“Trite. It’s the faith that repels me. On their own, they’re as good as holding up a yard stick.” He shrugged. “Any faith will do, oddly enough. As you can imagine, it doesn’t work very often. It’s for show when it comes to most humans.”
“Running water? You can’t cross it?”
He scoffed. “Untrue.”
“You’ve seen vampire movies? Read books?”
“They’re adorable. Sometimes entertaining. Insulting at points. I’ve learned to avoid the genre.”
“Garlic?”
“I mean, it stinks, so… I avoid it.”
Her mind raced. “A stake through the heart?”
“That’d kill me.”
“Aren’t you already dead?”
“Undead.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Technically a corpse inhabited by something else. I’m as fresh as the night I rose. I’m enhanced. Stronger. Faster. My senses are keen. My mind is sharp.”
“What were you like before? You were turned, right?”
“I was a wealthy aristocrat living in Europe, traveling, and enjoying the lands and their bounty. A hedonistic creature. Drunk and spoiled,” he said. “My sire took a fancy to me and brought me in.”
“Do you sleep in a coffin?”
“I do.”
“Why a coffin?”
“Ritual, really. I could sleep anywhere dark, to be honest. The coffin is a symbol of our rising. I also keep soil from the place of my birth in my resting place. It reaffirms who I am,” he said, gesturing in the air. “More of an observance of custom.”
“You are being very candid.”
“Of course, I told you I would.”
“Why me?”
“You were the first in many years to grab my attention. I knew I had to have you. You’re astounding, Lizzie. I feel again when I see your work.” He touched his chest.
“Feel again?”
“I’ve existed for a long time. And it is boring. So boring. The centuries pass and I persist. As a human, the longer you live, the faster time seems to travel with you. You forget names and dates, addresses… faces.” He smiled softly. “As a vampire, I remember everything clearly. I don’t have the luxury of a short attention span. Art, music, and books have kept me sane.”
“You mentioned influencing me? What did you mean? Using mind powers? Is that what you meant?”
“Yes. I won’t. Not on you.”
“Why?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Because it might damage you, and I can’t have that.”
“I see.”
“You sound oddly disappointed.”
“Hah, just thought I found a cure for writer’s block.”
“Forcing an artist or writer to create doesn’t work. Their creations will be stilted mockeries of the original,” he said. “It ruins them, leaving nothing left.”
“When you say that you have to have me…”
“Have you, yes.” His smile faltered. “Make you mine. Give you a comfortable space in my home. Afford you the lifestyle you desire. Cater to your every whim. Pamper you. Please you. Keep you close. And all you have to do in return is continue to create for me. I’ll supply for you all your needs. I’ll care for you. Keep you safe and secure.”
“Like a pet…”
“Like a god,” he whispered. “I’ll worship you.”
Lizzie pushed her food around idly. “Why?”
“Admiration for a talented individual.”
“There are millions of talented people out there…”
He leaned forward, eyes intense. “I connected with you.”
“Have there been… others?”
“Finish your meal, and I’ll show you.” He smiled again, showing off his teeth.
She almost washed the plate in the sink. He took it from her, set it aside and guided her out into the foyer. Then, to the library. He turned on the light, indicated toward the tarps thrown over what appeared to be storage crates, and left her in the doorway so he might pull off the cloths.
Old chests, like the sort she’d expect to see in a pirate movie surprised her when he pulled the tarps to the side. He knelt, opened the first one, and pushed aside the linen film protecting the contents.
Martin reached in and pulled out a gold framed painting, showing it to her with childlike enthusiasm. It was a highly detailed, lovely oil painting of himself, though his hair was longer, and he was dressed in a much older style of clothing. “Eighteen sixty-two. Jan de Vries. So talented.”
“A portrait?” Lizzie approached and knelt beside him. She took the painting from his hands to study it, appreciating the strokes of the brush. “Oh, it makes sense… you wouldn’t know. You’d want to see yourself.”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have a reflection.”
Martin laughed. “I reflect in modern mirrors, my dear.” When Lizzie raised an eyebrow, he shook his head, grinning. “Perhaps a problem ages ago when they used silver as the backing. I didn’t reflect in those. Mirrors now use aluminum.”
“So surreal,” she whispered, her gaze returning to the painting. The artist had done fine work capturing the handsome charm in Martin’s face. Even the slightly tilted smile had been depicted accurately.
“You’re honestly taking this better than I’d expected.”
“I see weirder things in my head; I don’t think much could shock me,” she said. “I mean, beyond passing out because I see a man floating outside my window in the middle of the night. Wasn’t prepared for that.”
“I might save the stranger details for a later time then.” Martin grinned and took the painting from her. He set it to the side and produced another from inside the chest. This one was of a sunrise over a vast field of flowers. “I asked for this one specifically, as I may request of you one now and again. In the modern era, I can search for images like this one, of course. I just enjoy the feeling in it.”
“I could always try for something a little less dark,” she said. “If you’d like.”
“For now, I love your style.” He set the painting to the side and pulled out another. It was a tree on fire. “Most were up to the artists. It’s rare that I ask for a particular piece.”
“I see.”
He went through the contents of the chest
, talking about each painting and smiling nostalgically, warm emotions evident on his face.
She frowned at one of them, noting the choppier strokes. The same initials had been in every corner, the linework degrading in quality from painting to painting. “What happened to Jan de Vries, Martin?”
“He died. As you all do one day.”
“Was there another before him?”
“Oh yes. And one before her. And another, and another. You have short lives but I’m always a lover of the arts.”
“You’ve had many artists then?”
“Oh yes. Artists, writers, musicians…”
“You cared for them and kept them?”
He nodded. “They were each very special to me.”
“And they never wanted to leave?”
Martin began to put the paintings away carefully. “Why would they?”
“Didn’t they have families?” She tilted her head, hands on her thighs.
“They had me.”
“And if they were lonely?”
“They had me.”
“I mean, lonely for love and… deep connections.”
He gazed up at her, brows knit. “Me.”
“You were their only friend?”
“Why would they need anyone else?” He blinked once.
“Humans have needs.”
“All of which I can provide,” he said. “Food. Shelter. Nice things. Companionship. Adoration. Love. Carnal desires. I am capable of being everything you need.”
“You were with them then? Romantically? Physically?”
“I served that role if they required it.” He shrugged. “As I said before, I love to look upon a starry sky. I am not drawn to it like you are to one another, but if my precious one is lonely, I can control this body enough to satiate their mortal wants.”
“You aren’t attracted to humans?”
“No,” he replied, leaning back on his knees. “This body has no wants – not of that nature. The flesh is cold, is it not? But if I’ve fed recently, I can concentrate on those parts which please you and send blood down to-”
“Whoa, okay.” She held up a hand. “Did it ever bother the others that you ate – I mean, fed on – humans?”
“Sometimes.”
