With a violent shake from Jacques, Lucien blinked back to reality, his hand poised on the scabbard. The Haitian used all his strength to restrain Lucien from doing anything permanent with his sword.
Lucien locked eyes with his woman’s. He grinned at her terror. Here it comes – his Petite Fleur screamed like a trapped animal. She slumped to the floor unconscious.
A hush came over the party.
Sebastian heaved a resigned sigh. He examined Delicate Rose sprawled on the thick rug.
Ellise looked on with genuine concern, unlike those guests merely being polite.
Sebastian looked slightly annoyed. “Indeed, too much wine ... time for some clean country air my Little Rose.” Sebastian gave Lucien a nasty glare.
Lucien’s dead blue eyes turned even colder, sensing Sebastian’s hatred of him. You keep your fucking hands off my beloved, he thought, his jealous rage erupting with volcanic proportions. He tried to remove his sword but was again restrained by Jacques.
“Not here ... not like this, man.”
Sebastian gave Lucien a triumphant smirk, effortlessly picking up the unconscious woman and carrying her towards the door with a drunken Ellise in tow.
Claudette had stuttered to a limp pause on the coffee table. She now seemed quite vulnerable in her nakedness and looked at the lecherous faces fixed upon her body. With her hand she hid her mound and used an arm to hide her breasts, quivering like a bird stalked by a cat.
Max took advantage of the moment. He leaned forward and kissed her rear end. This brought the guests back to their hedonistic frivolity.
Lucien nodded to Jacques.
Jacques shoved his way through onlookers and plucked Claudette from the table. Her admirers moaned in disappointment when she was slung over his back like a side of bacon.
Lucien dashed across the room and blocked Sebastian’s way with a threatening look. He tried to grab his Delicate Rose.
Sebastian was in no mood for games. He kicked Lucien’s legs from under him and shoved him aside as he exited the apartment.
Lucien fell to the floor in total surprise. He sprang to his feet like a cat charging after Sebastian. The bartender tackled Lucien to the floor. Several male guests pounced on him. It took four strong men to keep Lucien under control.
Soo-Soo stepped up to the tyrant and warned him with a wagging finger. “I hope I never set eyes on you again. Now get out.” Soo-Soo stood looking defiant, pointing to the door.
Lucien angrily pushed the male guests aside. In one fluid movement he was on his feet, snapping his fingers to Jacques to get a move on.
He glared at Soo-Soo with a deadly anger. “I’ll see to you later, whore.” He gave Soo-Soo a wicked wink and a look that promised an unpleasant outcome when next they met. He was enraged at Soo-Soo’s brave stance. The Count needed to kill her right now, but Delicate Rose was more important.
“You pig Lucien!” Claudette said. She started to struggle on Jacques’ strong shoulders. “I’m having fun. Let me stay.”
Jacques caught Claudette’s dress, tossed by Picasso. Her pair of shoes struck his back. He calmly bent down and picked them up, glaring around the room for the guest who had tossed them.
Lucien snatched Claudette’s clothes from Jacques, tearing the expensive dress. He didn’t care. Lucien and Jacques rushed from the Ritz apartment. Much to Jacques’ discomfort, Claudette threw up down his back. They raced down the stairway.
Chapter 20
5th June
LUCIEN RUSHED FROM the Ritz Hotel onto the Rue Cambon as midnight gave way to the next day. He looked around the dark street and saw his Petite Fleur being gently placed on the rear seat of a white Rolls Royce.
Lucien noticed movement in the shadows across the street. Light from a cigarette, confirmed the presence of the police. He nudged Jacques to look at the flics.
“Shit!” Jacques exclaimed.
Several people wandered down the street singing and laughing while passing a bottle around. The drunken throng paused to look at Claudette’s naked rear, cheek to cheek with Jacques’ face. One man slapped her buttocks before sauntering off with his friends.
Lucien removed his sword and dashed towards the Rolls Royce. He was alerted by a whistle from the police, and skidded to a stop. Thwarted again! The moment had passed. He slid his sword back into its scabbard and ran back to his car. Jacques tossed the keys to him. Lucien opened the rear passenger door for him, keeping an eye on the approaching flics.
Jacques released a groaning Claudette who uncoiled across the leather seat.
Lucien tossed her dress and shoes in the back, not caring if a heel should take out an eye.
Jacques picked up Claudette’s fur coat from the floor of the car and covered her nakedness with it, but not before giving her pert mound a long lick.
“You dog ... there’s no time for that!” Lucien exclaimed.
Lucien slammed the rear door shut and was about to get into the front passenger seat when a hand gripped his shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going?” a flic demanded.
Count Lucien whirled around and without hesitating sliced the flic’s heart in two. The other flic faltered for a fatal moment. The last thing he saw were his own polished boots while his head rolled into the gutter.
Lucien dived into the car, slamming the door after himself. Several interminable seconds passed as if his entire life had slowed with his heart beat. He stared angrily out the windscreen down the street to the white Rolls Royce slowly driving off. With a look of immense frustration The Count stared at the bloody sword in his left hand and angrily stabbed it into the floor where it quivered as if in the throes of a bloody orgasm.
Jacques sat in the driver’s seat and caught the keys tossed by Lucien.
Lucien gave Jacques a dangerous look. “Follow them, but don’t make it obvious!”
Jacques nodded obediently. His attention was focused on the other car. Jacques engaged the engine and followed behind the other car with headlights off.
Now with the city lights behind it, the Mercedes cruised along at a safe distance from the white Silver Ghost up ahead. Both cars took the quiet, dark, auto route heading for Auxerre – Burgundy country.
Lucien glanced at the sign for Auxerre, briefly illuminated by the Mercedes’ headlights, and heaved a weary sigh. He had never conceived of a situation where he would be forced to return to his homeland. Leaning back in his seat, he put his feet up on the dashboard, leaving the car in the capable hands of Jacques. Count Lucien Dupont closed his eyes when the inevitable memories flooded his disturbed mind.
Lucien was always proud of his amazingly accurate recollections. These bouts of reminiscing seemed to empower his precarious state of mind with the need to demonstrate his superiority, something he exposed to his subordinates at every opportunity. He relished the memories of his dark inheritance courtesy of The Count.
~~~~
It was a few months before the Great War stripped Europe of its young men. Ten year old Lucien realized he had special talents that set him apart from the other youths in Douvrey. He was as dispassionate as a block of ice. The boy didn’t have any friends to play with. That was fine by him for he couldn’t conceive of wasting his precious time kicking a leather ball around the school yard or teasing the girls. He was a lone wolf.
Lucien often laughed at his religious mother who tried desperately to teach her son chess or draughts. He would have none of it. Play meant the death of valuable time to Lucien. So his mother forced him to read. He loved books, but not the drivel he was allowed to read.
One day, after school, Lucien cycled all the way to Auxerre and entered a bookstore. The smell of molding books was invigorating. He scanned row after row of volumes until he stopped dead in his tracks. His heart raced out of control. A cold shiver slithered down his back. His trembling hand removed a leather-bound copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. He felt goose bumps tingle his skin. After paying for the book with trembling fingers he cycled home as fast
as he could.
That night, Lucien opened the book and began to read with only the full moon to illuminate the glorious words. It seemed appropriate. It seemed right. With every page absorbed into his feverish soul he felt stronger. Then something wonderful and yet terrifying happened. While reading of Jonathan Harker’s first encounter with the suave Count in chapter two an icy wind ruffled the pages. The book became so cold Lucien dropped it to the floor.
By the glow of the moon a black mist formed like the smoke from burning rubber, quivering as if alive. Feral eyes glowed like hot coals blinking from the dark presence. It hovered above a transfixed Lucien. He heard it speak in his mind.
“Let me in, young master Dupont.”
Lucien opened his mouth to scream but was stifled as the specter flew down his throat and choked him off. He coughed, smothered by smoke, and smelled that moldy old bookshop, but most of all he felt reborn with the strength to do anything he wished.
The Count spoke in his mind, “Bide your time for I will know when the moment arrives.”
What that moment was, Lucien had no idea.
His wiry frame was exceptionally strong, which became particularly useful for his cruel father set him onerous tasks at the family winery. He cleaned the barrels – pitched the barrels – stacked the barrels – picked the grapes until his hands bled. He stacked grapes to the brim of large wicker baskets, placed them on his head with consummate ease before carting them off to the pressing room. These tasks would go on all night and then he had to endure school, a place he despised for he knew full well it couldn’t teach him anything useful.
The Count insisted, “Be a man and suffer these indignities.”
Soaked in sweat Lucien endured terrifying nightmares. He began to fear sleeping at night, but the threat of a beating from his father forced him to endure the night terrors. Many times he awoke bathed in sweat, and yet, when he looked at his hands they were dripping with thick, dark blood. The vivid dream had spilled out into his waking world. Lucien wanted to scream, but dared not for fear of his father.
In his gory dreams, he drank blood by the gallons, on vicious hunting trips, seeking a girl that constantly antagonized him. These frequent nightmares became second nature to him, a constant. The Count comforted his turmoil with the promise of impending greatness.
And so young Lucien went about his daily toil – firstly at the vineyard, then at school before continuing with the wine business until dark. He knew he would eventually meet a special girl that would capture his heart and condemn him with her love. It was a problem too complex for his youthful mind to fathom – a problem constantly on his mind while his stupid teachers patronized him with useless information.
“They are nothing, Master Lucien. Ignore them. You are superior in every way,” The Count offered.
When war was declared, Lucien’s father eagerly left to fight the Hun, leaving the vineyard in the hands of his elderly, drunken sot of a manager, and Lucien. For three wonderful years Lucien endured the labors of winemaking as never before. He was finally free of his father’s influence.
And as it was written so it came to pass. As the Third Battle of Ypres raged, a strange eleven year old girl with milky-white skin and flowing red hair joined Lucien’s class. She sat opposite him. Her sad smile immediately lifted Lucien’s heart, making him forget about his dreams and tough work. She was his perfect Petite Rose. Though but a thin, pale girl, he had fallen under her spell. He had no doubt it was a spell, for he felt so different when close to her.
“You must pursue her and win her heart,” The Count said.
And so Lucien became besotted with the girl who spurned all advances from the other boys and girls. It seemed she was a loner too. They instantly became more than just friends – they became joined as one heart. And Lucien discovered history through his girls’ eyes. She would amaze her teachers with her knowledge of the Celts, Romans, The Normans, Borgia, Elizabeth Tudor, scientific discoveries, inventions and the Arts – but she had no idea who Napoleon Bonaparte was.
Lucien’s heart flourished with the joys of love he nurtured for his Petite Rose, especially when his mother allowed her and her aunt to stay at the chateau as maids. He picked flowers for her. He held her books while he walked her home. They sent secret messages with their eyes during class. But Lucien’s joy was short-lived. Not only had peace been declared – which meant his father would return, but his mother found his vampire’s blood bible. And worse still, she caught him kissing his Delicate Rose.
The Count was furious with Lucien. “How could you let this happen?”
Lucien’s mother dragged him from the whore and threatened his manhood. He was forced to confess his evil deeds to Father Papineau, and even worse, she dragged him to see Doctor Vernier at the asylum. But Lucien was too clever for the likes of those feeble-minded fools. He outwitted them all with his lies – sweet lies that became the truth the more he believed them.
When his mother decided to get rid of that Whore of Babylon for seducing her son with her evil ways, Lucien snapped.
The Count explained, “This is what I want you to do.”
Lucien eagerly listened.
That night, Lucien stole into his mother’s bedroom stark naked and smeared with pig’s blood. He held a carving knife.
“Mother, oh Mother!” His bloody footprints stopped at his mother’s bed. He raised his hand and stabbed down. He giggled when she screamed. To shut her up, he slapped a bloody hand over her mouth. “Now listen closely, Mother, we will not tolerate your attitude to my Delicate Rose. She stays! Got that? Nod if you understand.” She barely managed to nod yes. “See how easy that was. If you threaten my Delicate Rose ever again I’ll let The Count eat you from the inside out.” Lucien allowed The Count to show himself with glowing red eyes and black fangs reeking of death. Lucien plucked the knife from his father’s pillow and left.
Lucien’s father returned and brought the war home with him. He used it as an excuse to beat Lucien’s poor wreck of a mother in his drunken rages.
One fateful night, during the influenza epidemic, his father staggered home to the family chateau, drunk as usual from raiding the whorehouses in the poor district of Auxerre. Lucien’s mother could not handle his behavior any longer.
Later that night, Lucien overheard the terrible row between his parents. He slipped out of bed, wearing his pajamas, and silently crept downstairs.
Fifteen year old Lucien stood, calmly watching from the doorway to the living room while his father gripped his mother by the throat. He so wanted to help, but was transfixed.
The Count spoke, “You know what to do. Always wait until the time is right.”
Lucien smiled wickedly when his mother brandished his father’s pistol from her cardigan pocket. Go on, use it. Shoot the bastard. He felt the gun as if in his own hand.
Lucien’s mother opened fire at point blank range.
Charles Dupont clutched his stomach and fell to the floor, groaning in agony. Another bullet ended his terrible life of bullying, shattering his skull.
She turned and gave Lucien one last look of love and sent the third bullet through the top of her head. She fell to the floor next to her husband.
Lucien faltered for a brief moment, staring at the gruesome scene. Blood had sprayed over his face and hands. He was unsure what to do. One part of him was horrified, tears of guilt streaked down his face. The other part, that darker part, wanted to rejoice at his newfound freedom. That part took control – The Count.
“Wash off the blood and hide the gun,” The Count ordered.
His racing heart – thrilled with the visions of what he had witnessed, was the only beating heart within the house that fateful night. He felt so powerful he trembled all over. He had to hide from the intruder who had killed his parents. The Count told him where to go.
Lucien waited in pitch darkness for his true love to find him. She did. He heard her descending the stairs into the cellar. He felt the dark music of her love.
> Lucien heard his Petite Fleur stopping at the massive oak barrel in the cellar. He heard her gentle knocking.
Her Aunt Francine had a look of astonishment as Lucien stepped out of the barrel, all tearful and terrified.
The police believed Lucien’s story – an intruder entered through the unlocked kitchen door and shot his parents. It was Lucien’s parting gift to avert the awful scandal that would have besmirched his family name. A swift search of the area found an unfortunate vagrant sleeping in one of the Duponts’ barns. He was taken for questioning.
Before the interrogation proceeded, the vagrant – who would not give his name, except that of Napoleon Bonaparte, confessed to the crime. He was duly charged with the double murders and before being sentenced, went berserk in his cell at the Auxerre Prefecture de Police. The condemned prisoner had the strength of two men and during the ensuing struggle with several gendarmes he grabbed a revolver from its holster.
The vagrant aimed the revolver at the cowering gendarmes before he blew his brains out, screaming, “Vive Bonaparte!”
When the police were made aware the vagrant was actually an escaped lunatic from the local asylum, they closed the case. Guilty as confessed.
Three years later, Lucien inherited the family fortune, and what a fortune it was. He would never in his own lifetime, be able to empty the family coffers of the hundreds of millions of francs amassed from the rich, red Burgundies produced by the family winery – Chateau Dupont. And so, at the age of eighteen, Lucien immediately sold the family residence, left the winery to those already running the business, and put Douvrey far behind him. He had vowed never to return.
Chapter 21
WITH A HEAVY sigh Lucien watched dark trees flashing past on the road to Douvrey. The Mercedes hit a rut, jolting Lucien back to reality. His wristwatch showed almost two in the morning of the 5th June.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 187