He saw a seedy flea pit showing a Greta Garbo flick. Several young females entered, giggling and squealing. The smell of their fresh blood gave him an instant erection. Lucien followed them in.
He removed his glasses and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. The girls chuckled behind him. They were fondling and kissing in the back row. The Suckling vampire slid across the row of seats and passed the girls. He sat right next to them. They stopped fooling around.
“Hey, mister, get lost!”
Lucien leaned across them and sprayed them with an ample amount of Forbidden Kiss.
“What the hell was that shit?”
Lucien gleamed his fangs and opened one bottle at a time. Oh what a difference it made not poisoning one’s own blood. The girls’ fruity offering was similar to a young, vibrant Cabernet, not too full-bodied but bursting with life and the fizz of fun. Lucien decided not to leave the girls stone cold. He wiped himself of their blood, using their disheveled clothing and quietly left making sure his hat concealed his face. A sudden jolt of agony reminded him to put his glasses back on.
Lucien hummed while strolling down fashionable boulevards sniffing blood of every vintage passing him by. He had such fun likening each person to the great classic wines and he could care less about the strange glances others gave him.
In a nearby bar, he entered the toilets. The stench of stale urine assaulted his senses. He coughed with the need to puke. As he relieved himself of his excesses, a patron stood next to him and began to urinate. Lucien was casually looking away at nothing in particular when he picked up on the man’s disgust and revulsion.
Lucien glanced down to see a stream of blackish red urine staining the metal urinal. He turned and shrugged to the man, shook himself dry, removed his sword and sent the inquisitive bastard to his maker.
Count Lucien continued on to his destination satisfied with the day’s body count. He entered his favorite boutique offering the best Haute Couture his millions of Francs could buy. An effeminate attendant placed both coats on mannequins. Lucien admired them with a discerning eye for the exquisite cut. He handed several hundred Francs to the attendant who carefully folded the clothes into two carrier bags.
Chapter 15
4th June
ETERNAL’S BLOODY FANGS released their grip on his neck. She had found her true love and caressed his dreams with her muse.
“Eternal!” the young man screamed. Twenty-one-year-old Edouard Clavet woke with a start. He was drenched in sweat. Sitting up, he stared around his sardine-tin of a dorm within the bowels of the Centre Hospitalier Universitaire de Psychologique in Paris. His bedclothes had twisted into knots. The word “Eternal” ricocheted around the walls of his mind like a bullet discharged from some unknown source. What did it mean? This latest dream seemed almost too real.
He had lingering images of a filthy barn full of straw and a bloody lump of flesh held high. The sweetest music he had ever heard slowly evaporated from his memory like the dying sighs of a thousand angels. It reminded him of the gentle lullabies his mother used to sing. Could dreams be real, he wondered.
He leapt from his cot still wearing his hospital gown. A newspaper slid from his bed displaying the date – June 4th, 1925. He had no idea what time it was. He shook his head to clear the fading image of a woman with skin so pale and soft and eyes that had captured his heart. Who was she and how could she enter his dreams? He had never seen her before.
The vivid images of drinking rich blood from demure virgins’ necks left him a bitter taste. The sharp coppery tang caused him to run a finger around his mouth and stare at the blood dripping from it. In his night terrors he had bitten his cheek. A shudder rippled through his body. The dreams seemed to be telling him of another person’s life or possibly a destiny beyond his understanding.
Edouard licked dry lips and wondered how long he had been asleep. With a crushed heart he recalled the dreadful argument he had with the Directeur over the treatment of a patient suffering from obvious symptoms of shock. The psychiatric intern had stood his ground, knowing he was right and the same went for the Directeur. Edouard had stormed off with the threat of dismissal hanging over him.
Edouard trembled with rage at the Directeur’s pigheadedness. He snatched his reading glasses from a bedside cabinet and removed his fob watch from the crumpled hospital gown. A gasp of shock escaped his lungs. It was almost six in the evening and he would need to hurry before the shops closed.
“How could I forget? Please forgive me.” He muttered miserably as he quickly disrobed. These unusual dreams interfered with his personal life, and it would seem his professional life too.
He had never forgotten to put a single red rose on his parents’ graves, so cruelly taken by the 1919 influenza epidemic. The other reason for his forgetfulness invaded his racing mind for the second time. Had he been wrong? His pedantic nature forced him to mull over the events of that morning.
The Directeur De Psychologique berated Edouard on his use of Pierre Janet’s trauma treatment on his patient. “Stick to Freud.”
Edouard stubbornly disobeyed and used Janet on his patient with moderate results.
The Directeur was furious. “I will not tolerate such gross disobedience. Get out of my sight. I will decide your fate tomorrow.”
Edouard expected to be expelled any day now. He removed his white gown and in his underwear he splashed water copiously over his body. From the windowsill he removed a bottle of eau de cologne and splashed the scented water under his arms and into his hair.
He hurriedly dressed in his best suit of grey flannel. The fine fabric reminded him of his mother’s prideful smile whenever she saw him well-dressed.
~~~~
Edouard left his cramped dormitory – his home for the last three years, and stepped out of the drab grey mental institute overlooking the Seine. He crossed the expansive square bustling with fellow psychology students. He made haste to the Boulevard Saint Michel with its fashionable cafés, shops and bars all jostling for trade from eager tourists and Parisians.
Edouard took in the vista before him – the smartly-dressed couples enjoying a coffee, a glass of red wine or a cognac under the canopies of cafés and restaurants. He walked past the numerous cafés and stopped at a florist displaying a profusion of colorful blooms laid out in the shape of a heart. A red rose captured his imagination. He was reminded of his recent dream – the rose was the dominant image. He smelled the strong scents of the flowers wafting towards him, carried by the gentle but pungent breeze from the Seine.
A bell chimed as he closed the door of the shop behind him. Edouard casually surveyed the multitude of colors all around him – red, yellow, pink, white roses, carnations of every hue, orchids, peonies, enormous white lilies, garlands and wreaths, bouquets and arrangements for weddings and funerals. As he inspected the symphony of blooms he covertly glanced at the young woman at the register.
The attractive blonde caught his eye and smiled.
Edouard smiled back rakishly, thinking he just might give her what she obviously wanted. She giggled coquettishly, continuing to arrange some flowers into a garland on the counter top.
Edouard came upon a rose like no other. Such depth of color, he mused. It was the darkest red he had ever seen, as though borne of blood-soaked earth. He could not resist touching its fragile petals. The texture was so smooth and soft he could barely discern its touch. The aroma remained on his fingers. The scent was imperceptible, but a powerful memory stirred within his subconscious mind – a flashback from that distant past of his dreams coalesced before him with an image of an ethereal, beautiful woman beckoning to him with open arms on a bed of rose petals.
Edouard burst into a sickening sweat, dizzy, almost queasy as if standing on a rocking boat. He heard that word again – “Eternal” – carried on a breeze of subconscious design. Shuddering for a moment, he looked around him to see everything was as it should be.
The young shop assistant gave him a strange look.
He cleared his throat and flashed a come-on look with his bedroom eyes. She smiled enticingly. He took one rose and was about to reach out for another when the chime rang the arrival of another customer.
Edouard turned to look upon a picture of such exquisite perfection that time stood still for him. The woman from his dreams removed fashionable sunglasses and slipped them into her jacket pocket. She was breathing heavily and seemed desperate as she looked behind her. He could do nothing but stare at her standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the last of the sun’s rays.
His lungs refused to draw in air, though he smelled her perfume as it wafted tantalizingly past his nose – Chanel. She had the looks that would stop a crowded room. Again, a distant memory choked his mind with the image of blood dripping from fangs. A single word rattled around in his feverish mind – Eternal. Edouard blinked to regain his composure.
The woman walked up to him with deliberate intent. Her luxuriant red hair and skin so smooth and pale were beyond enticing. He had to resist an impulse to stroke her finely contoured cheeks or die right there for not trying.
She held him transfixed with large lustrous eyes of burnt umber. The color radiated an allure, enticing, and at the same time dark and foreboding. He gasped, as the feeble light cascading from the window caught her eyes changing to pitch-black, like a cat poised to pounce.
Edouard shuddered as she spoke without moving her lips – “We are eternal, my true love.” His mind numbed with shock at hearing those words from his dreams. He trembled with excitement.
“I am for you.” He had barely enough breath to speak.
Although extravagantly dressed from head to toe, in fashionable, chic black Chanel over a white chiffon gown, Edouard could not take his eyes from her angelic face. He marveled at her finely contoured nose set perfectly between her high cheekbones, as white as mountain peaks. Her full lips were painted deep, Burgundy red. Her eyes drew him in. She could have stood naked, and still Edouard wouldn’t have been able to pull his gaze from her iridescent, coal-black eyes circled by black mascara.
Her black and white attire accentuated delicate skin as translucent as a pearl glowing under a bright moon. Her pearlessence dazzled him. The woman glided across the floor like a swan on a crystal lake. She smiled faintly, revealing the edge of radiantly white teeth.
Edouard stood as rigid as a board with the dark red rose still in his hand longing to entwine his tongue with hers. He had to kiss her.
The sublime beauty took the rose from his hand with fingers encased in black velvet gloves. She sniffed the heavenly scent.
The delicious woman spoke with a voice as soft as angels’ wings. “I am for you, Edouard. We are eternal.”
She plucked the rose from the long stem and pushed the flower into her jacket lapel buttonhole. She opened her gorgeous mouth and pounced upon the transfixed Edouard with a rampant kiss.
He returned the kiss with equal passion as a surge of electricity coursed through his body. He shuddered as her coolness chilled his wildly beating heart. Their tongues wrapped in a lovers’ embrace, tasting the heat of passion. A strange sensation of dread enveloped him as ancient music, dark, yet comforting, cloaked his soul. It was the music from his dreams. So enraptured in the moment, he had no idea how this woman knew his name – but he reveled in the fact that she did.
She spoke, and yet her lips never left his mouth, “We shall be together always. We shall be eternal.”
The door chimed the arrival of another customer.
Edouard turned to ice, matching her sudden terror like a chill wind from a slaughterhouse.
Deep in her embrace and kiss, her voice screamed into his soul. “The Moreau Suite at the Ritz.”
Her kiss was halted abruptly. The woman was torn from his grasp, that urgent message echoing in his mind. He opened his eyes to see an ashen-faced, tall, lithe young man, with shoulder-length raven-black hair, dressed in a smart black coat, black fedora and dark glasses. Edouard’s heart turned to stone as an irrational fear gripped him.
The young man’s pale face sneered back at Edouard with open hatred. He warned, “You dance with the Devil … you sleep with the Devil!”
The woman trembled with fear in the grip of this wicked man. And Edouard had no doubts how dangerous this man was.
She looked like a bird cowering before a ravenous cat. And yet, she looked confused and lost.
Edouard stepped forward to accost this impudent fellow.
In a blur of motion, the young man left the shop, dragging the mysterious woman of his dreams like a rag doll.
Edouard stared at the door slowly closing behind the fleeing couple. The strange music immediately evaporated from his mind, and yet her words remained. What did she mean by eternal? What was her name? He knew she was the one. No other woman could possibly compare with the vision of loveliness that had so easily captured his heart and soul. Could someone capture your soul in a momentary meeting? He came to his senses and rushed from the shop to see the woman being bundled into a massive black Mercedes. The car resembled a hearse.
Edouard ran after the car, but it took off with a screech of tires. He stood staring down the boulevard to watch the car vanish in the distance.
Several passers-by gave Edouard curious looks.
His heart pounded heavily and he wondered what ill-fated disaster would befall him next. He returned to the florist and bought two deep red roses. Edouard didn’t even notice the attractive woman at the counter as she handed him his change in a somewhat gruff manner, for his mind was consumed by that delicious creature that filled him with such abandon and fear. Such passion!
Chapter 16
EDOUARD BURST FORTH from the florist like a cork from a champagne bottle. He quickly hailed a taxi and gave the driver orders for the Cimetiere de Montmartre. By the time the taxi dropped Edouard off at the cemetery on 37, Avenue Samson, it was getting late. He paid the driver and rushed into the cemetery with the roses.
A cool damp mist slowly swirled around the head stones and monuments. Edouard found it difficult to see his way. He was startled by a gargoyle protecting the dead encased in a mausoleum. A sudden chill sent shivers down his spine as he heard plaintive whimpering. Irrational fear gripped his soul with the need to run. Don’t be so stupid! It’s just the mist playing tricks as it always does.
He walked through the ethereal fog clinging to the graves as if the breath of the dead were leaking out. He passed the monuments attesting to the occupants’ illustrious careers of Emile Zola, Jacques Offenbach, Jean Marie Joseph Farina – inventor of Eau-de-Cologne, Edgar Degas, Alexandre Dumas and Hector Berlioz. He came upon his parents’ polished marble headstones, side by side, and laid a rose on each grassy mound with a quiet reverence befitting the moment.
Edouard said a fond farewell and started to walk back to the main gate when something caught his eye. He turned to see a specter-like figure, dressed in black, rushing through the dusky mist. At this distance he was unable to make out the face, but something about it was familiar – the red hair! His heart skipped a beat then raced full throttle. It was the same woman from the florist. It had to be.
“No, Lucien!” she screamed.
That name sent shivers down Edouard’s spine. It was a name that haunted his night terrors. Fear momentarily overcame him. Her dreadful screams galvanized his legs into action, racing after her voice.
Edouard stumbled over something in the fog, falling heavily to the damp grass. His clenched lips smacked into a woman’s cold face, causing her eyes to slowly open. Revulsion sent him scurrying away, but the doctor in him forced another look.
While absent-mindedly wiping his suit, he realized he had tripped over the body of a young woman. He checked for a pulse at her neck and this confirmed that she was indeed dead, but not long as her unexposed flesh was still warm. His fingers felt wet. They were dripping dark syrupy blood.
More screams shattered the eerie silence. To his utter horror, Edouard saw a tall, dark figure, partially con
cealed by the ground fog struggling with his dream woman. Edouard rushed to her rescue but was instantly paralyzed by Lucien’s hideous face sneering blood-stained fangs.
“Fuck off, lover boy or you’ll be next.”
Terror gripped Edouard with a primeval instinct to run for his life. It took over his body. His legs felt leaden like the deeply planted head stones. He whimpered as this vile creature menacingly approached him with a bloody smile. The woman’s screams kick-started Edouard’s legs. He tackled the ghoul to the ground. The woman ran off.
Edouard and Lucien tussled in the damp grass.
Lucien aimed his bloody fangs towards Edouard’s exposed neck.
Edouard stared in sickening horror at those fangs begging for his blood. With considerable effort, he managed to kick the vampire off his body and roll to his feet. He stumbled away from the ghoul, scuffing his knee on a headstone. It hurt like hell, but he dared not stop or he would surely perish.
The creature shouted, “You can’t hide from me, my Little Rose.” Hideous laughter followed those words. “You dance with the Devil … you sleep with Devil!”
With dread Edouard listened to the sound of the woman’s flight dwindling in the distance. He tried to discern the direction, but the terrible sound of running feet reaching close behind forced him into action. He sprinted down a row of headstones, regardless of his poor vision in the mist-shrouded twilight.
Edouard crashed headlong into another figure dressed in a long black coat. Whatever it was fell to the ground, cursing in broken French with a Caribbean accent. Edouard’s lungs sucked in desperately-needed air as he got to his feet. A massive black creature resembling a giant bat rose before him with a hideous growl.
Edouard dodged through more headstones and continued right through the cemetery gates where he saw the black Mercedes. He skidded to a stop, catching his breath. He peered into the car, hoping to see the woman who had so easily captured his heart.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 184