Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  And the flickering lights she’d seen?

  Flashlights?

  Candles?

  Penlights?

  The illumination had disappeared. The basement was now dark as a tomb.

  Disappointed, Kristi climbed back over the gate and walked to her car. As she did, she felt those unseen eyes watching her every move. A bit of wind stirred, causing the wet leaves on the ground to lift and brittle branches of live oak to rattle.

  As she reached her car she thought she heard a voice…a soft voice, the barest of whispers quietly crying.

  She stopped short.

  “Help me,” it called.

  Kristi spun, searching the shadows. “Is someone there?” she responded, looking across the parking lot to the house. She strained to listen but heard nothing over the sough of the wind.

  All in your head, she told herself, but she waited again, listening, skin prickling, feeling as if her every move were being scrutinized. Measured. Second-guessed.

  “Is anyone there?” she tried again, rotating slowly, her heart hammering in dread, her fingers unzipping her purse and closing over her canister of mace. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  Just the drip of rain from the downspouts as the chapel bells began to peel the hours. Goose bumps rose on her skin and she glanced up to the roof of Wagner House. Was someone in an upper window staring down at her? A dark figure in the shadows, or was she truly imagining it all? She half expected some deranged creatures with bloody fangs to swoop down on her. The vial at her neck felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

  “Get over yourself,” she admonished once she was in the car. She reached for her phone, turned it on, and listened to two messages. One from Jay insisting she call him, the other from her dad, who tried his best to sound like he was just checking in, but there was an underlying gravity to his voice that couldn’t be missed. “…so call me when you can,” he said as he signed off.

  “Will do, Dad,” she said, putting the car into gear and glancing once more toward Wagner House.

  Vlad watched from the bell tower of the church chapel. Kristi Bentz was becoming a big problem.

  Elizabeth was right.

  It was time to leave, before they got caught. There were other hunting grounds, but they would take some time to establish, so it would be necessary to sacrifice more than one tonight and again tomorrow. Then they would stop for a while. Make the blood last.

  The taillights of the Honda faded in the distance and he licked his lips at the thought of Kristi Bentz and her long, supple neck. He imagined sinking his teeth into her as well as doing all sorts of things to her body.

  So Elizabeth wanted to watch.

  Who better to start with than the girl who was trying so desperately to unmask them? Wouldn’t there be sweet irony in Elizabeth viewing it all?

  Yes, he decided, there was a poetry, a symmetry to it.

  As if the taking of Kristi Bentz’s life had been preordained.

  But he was getting ahead of himself.

  First, there were others to attend to. Beautiful girls who had already pledged their souls.

  Tonight, one would be taken.

  Tomorrow, if all went as planned, there would be two.

  Their images came to mind and he felt a hot lust run through him. He imagined their surrender.

  But first, tonight, one was waiting….

  Ariel was groggy, couldn’t lift her head, and she was cold, so damned cold. The room was dark, but somehow familiar, as if she’d dreamed it. And she was naked as she lay upon a couch of some kind, the pile soft against her bare skin.

  You know what’s happening.

  You suspected this, didn’t you?

  Why were you so desperate for friends?

  Dazed, she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she wasn’t alone. She was on a stage of some kind, it seemed, a raised platform, and she felt as if dozens of eyes were watching her, though she saw no one.

  She tried to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t form words, her vocal cords seemed paralyzed, just as her body was. Fear screamed through her and she tried like hell to move, to roll off the couch, to do anything.

  She’d only wanted friends, had gone out for a few drinks, ordered the “Blood Martini,” which had seemed fine…at first, and she hadn’t really bought into the whole thing, but she’d been intrigued and her newfound friends had assured her the “drinking of the blood” was all part of the ritual, all part of the fun, all part of this whole funky vampire craze.

  But now she was sick with fear and the rising mist that slowly seeped through the floor gave her the creeps.

  What was going on?

  Where was she?

  How had she gotten here, in this dark, cavernlike room?

  Who, dear God, who were the people she felt watching her, their eyes caressing her?

  Men?

  Women?

  Both?

  Oh, Lord, what were they going to do to her?

  She heard a footstep and tried to twist her neck, but failed.

  Another footstep.

  Her blood ran cold through her veins.

  Help me, she silently prayed. Please God, help me.

  Frantically she tried to see who was approaching. One person or more?

  “Sister Ariel,” a male voice intoned.

  Sister? Why would he call her that? She did remember foggily some mention of an initiation rite…that must be what this was. But why did she have to be naked and God, oh, God, why couldn’t she move?

  She recognized his voice, didn’t she?

  “Sister Ariel comes to us willingly.”

  Who is “us”? And no, no I didn’t come willingly.

  More steady footsteps, and though he was at her back, though she couldn’t see him, she felt his presence. He touched the spot behind her ear and she wanted to recoil, but couldn’t. There was something dangerous and frightening, but also seductive, in his touch.

  His finger grazed the back of her neck and a thrill slid through her even though she was revolted. Her heart was pounding loudly inside her head and a red glow had turned the stage, if that’s what it was, to a dark scarlet mist.

  It crossed her mind that she might be dreaming, or tripping out on some drug, but deep in her heart she knew this was real. He touched her intimately, leaning closer, breathing across her skin, brushing a nipple with one hand.

  Her body responded though she willed it not to. She still could not see him, could not twist to stare into his face. “Sister Ariel joins us willingly tonight to make the final, ultimate sacrifice.”

  No…this can’t be right. Ariel struggled inwardly, but her body wouldn’t, couldn’t, move.

  “Our sister. A virgin.”

  For the love of God, what was this? She wasn’t a virgin…. This was nuts, just plain crazy.

  She struggled wildly, not one muscle moving, and felt his hand begin to stroke her. “Now, Sister Ariel, it’s time,” he said, bending close, so close that his hot breath slid over the bare skin of her neck and she felt herself tingle. With anticipation? Or terror?

  No! No, no, no!

  His lips brushed against her skin.

  “You know who I am,” he whispered, and she did. Oh, Lord, she knew who he was and there had been times when she’d fantasized about him. But not like this…not with…with an audience. Not when fear and seduction were mixed, when she was unable to move, to speak.

  There was just the hint of a smile in his voice when he said, “Don’t be afraid.”

  But she was. Oh, God, she was afraid.

  He bent his head to her and she felt a white hot prick, like a needle into her neck. Her heart fluttered wildly. She tried to cry out but only a moan left her lips.

  His mouth held fast to her.

  The blood began to flow, even and warm.

  Oh, yes. She was afraid.

  She was paralyzed, consumed, stricken with fear.

  God, help me….

  CHAPTER 24

 
Kristi decided to stop at her apartment for a change of clothes. Once again, it seemed as if nothing inside had been disturbed. Maybe they’d scared the voyeur off. “Good riddance,” she said to the empty room as Houdini, who had been perched on top of the bookcase, dropped down and looked as if he wanted to do figure eights between her ankles. He wanted to trust her but hadn’t quite made that leap of faith yet.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised him, then headed out the door and drove to Jay’s aunt’s mess of a cottage.

  Jay was just getting out of his truck when she pulled into the cracked drive, and Bruno was already marking every bit of shrubbery on the way to the front door. Jay grabbed her and kissed her hard enough to make her mind spin.

  “Miss me?” she asked when he finally released her and she could catch her breath.

  “A little.”

  “A lot,” she teased.

  “I’m just glad you’re here,” he said seriously, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and shepherding them both around a dripping gutter as they made their way onto the front porch.

  Once inside, they checked the taped feed from her apartment but there was nothing other than the cat coming and going.

  “You think he’s ever going to show?”

  “In time,” Jay said grimly.

  Kristi changed into her pajamas, carefully removing the vial from around her neck, feeling faintly guilty about not telling Jay she’d worn it. When she returned to the living room, Jay was building a fire from wood scraps. Eager flames snapped and popped, the scent of wood smoke permeated the rooms, and Jay then cracked a bottle of red wine. They drank out of paper cups and sat propped up against worn furniture covered with sheetrock dust. “Home sweet home.” An ironic twinkle sparked in his eyes.

  “I saw Hiram at the play tonight,” she said, staring into her cup. “It was all I could do not to go up to him and accuse him of being a pervert.”

  “He would just deny it.”

  “I know, but if not him, then he gave my key to someone. Or maybe Irene did.”

  “Yeah, like the cable guy or phone repairman, or a plumber. We don’t know who this guy is.”

  “It hasn’t been that long since I changed the locks.”

  “We’ll get him,” Jay predicted. “Just be patient.”

  “You mean, more patient.”

  He smiled but didn’t argue. A damned good idea. Kristi knew that patience wasn’t her long suit, but lately, what little patience she possessed had been stretched thin. It seemed as if she were forever waiting, biding her time, hoping for a break.

  “You know, I can’t stay here while you’re in New Orleans,” Kristi said. “I have to go back to my apartment.”

  Jay vehemently shook his head. “How would that make you feel, knowing his camera’s still there? That he could come for it at any time? It’s not safe. Don’t worry, I’ll drive back after I get off work. Commute.”

  “After ten-hour days?”

  “It’s not that far.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “We’re talking four nights a week.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she assured him, growing slightly testy. It was one thing to have him be concerned for her safety, quite another to have him try to bully himself into her life. Overprotect her. She’d been down that road.

  “I’m coming back and that’s that, but I do have to go to the crime lab,” he admitted, then proceeded to tell her about everything he’d learned from Sonny Crawley before she could offer further protest.

  Kristi listened, flabbergasted, as he spelled out what he knew from the discovery of the female arm and hand in the gator’s belly, to the search of the swamp where the reptile had been found. She didn’t interrupt when he explained how the police were trying to ID the person to whom the arm had belonged, and that he’d asked his friend in the department to search through DMV and criminal records.

  “—so they’re looking for more evidence, more bodies,” Jay wrapped up as he took a long swallow from his cup. “It turns out that one of the detectives, Portia Laurent, has suspected all along that the girls who are missing from All Saints were abducted. They just didn’t have any evidence to prove it.”

  “But now they might,” Kristi said. She was still processing and almost missed it when he changed directions and asked her about the morality play. Slightly distracted, she told him about the events of her night, carefully skirting any mention of the vial because she knew he would demand it back, and she had every intention of wearing it to her meeting with Dr. Grotto the next day.

  She finished with her less than productive snooping around Wagner House and her belief that she’d heard someone call for help.

  “I’m not crazy about you meeting Dr. Vampire,” he said, pouring them each a little more wine. “And don’t go back to your apartment again.”

  Kristi ignored that. “What’s Grotto gonna do to me? I’ll be at his office in the English Department.”

  Jay’s eyes had turned dark as he stared into the fire. “But he’s involved in the girls’ disappearances; I can feel it. You seeing him, it just doesn’t feel right.” He rubbed his chin and shook his head. “And what about whoever was crying ‘help me’ outside Wagner House?”

  “I said I thought I heard it, but it could have been a cat mewing or…I don’t know, something else. The wind was blowing, it was raining, and I was maybe imagining things.”

  “You’re not one to imagine things,” he pointed out, and she decided it was time to set him straight.

  “What if I told you I could predict death by just looking at someone?”

  “You have some psychic power I’m not aware of?”

  “You could say that.”

  He smiled lazily and stretched out in front of the fire, his head propped on one hand, his drink in the other, his gaze fastened on hers. “Lay it on me.”

  And so she did, explaining about her dreams where her father died and the way she saw people in black and white before, she assumed, they were to die. When she was finished, she took another long swallow from her cup and noticed that his smile had faded.

  “I’m waiting for the punch line.”

  “There isn’t one,” Kristi assured him.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “But your father, and Lucretia and Ariel, they’re still alive.”

  “Yes, I know, but there was the one woman on the bus.”

  “An elderly woman.”

  “I’m just telling you what’s going on. Whenever it happens, I feel cold inside. Like death is cutting through my soul,” she said, her voice lowering a bit, feeling more and more foolish as she tried to explain. “I know it sounds nuts. But it’s as if evil itself were looking through my eyes.”

  “Kris—”

  “I know, I know. I sound like a psycho myself, that I need years of therapy, but it didn’t happen until after the accident.”

  “You told your father this?”

  “As paranoid as he is about me? No way. I thought about confiding in his wife, Olivia, because she has, er, had, this psychic thing going on, but then she’d feel obliged to tell Dad, and so the only one I told was Ariel.” She sighed. “Who knows how many people she blabbed to.”

  “No one will believe her. They’ll just think you’re loco.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Do you think I’m loco?”

  Jay hesitated long enough to raise Kristi’s temper, but then he held up a hand and said, “I think something’s going on with you. This—phenomenon—the gray pallor vision—could be something physical.”

  “A sight problem? A brain problem?”

  He shrugged. “All I know is I really don’t think you should meet with Grotto. Or at least wait for me to go with you.”

  Kristi would have liked to have an all-out argument about her “ability,” but maybe it was enough that she’d at least told him. For the moment anyway. She negated his suggestion about Grotto with, “That would blow everything.”r />
  “I can be outside his office. Nearby. You have your phone on, put it on mute, so he doesn’t hear anything, and I’ll listen in. If anything goes wrong, you let me know, and I’ll burst through the door like John effin’ Rambo.”

  “Okay,” she said. Fortunately she didn’t have to work. Flirty Francesca had agreed to take Kristi’s shift at the restaurant. “Wait at the library until you hear me talking to him, just so you know we’re in his office and he won’t see you, then once I’m inside, you can come into the English Department. Closer. Afterward we can go to the student union and talk, then to your class.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Do we need a code word in case I get into trouble with Grotto?”

  “How about ‘Help’ or ‘Jay, get the hell in here’!”

  “Those’ll work,” she said, almost laughing. “I’m only mildly crazy, you know,” she added.

  “I know.”

  She looked into his handsome face and wondered what had taken her so long to get to this point. To trust him. Love him.

  She almost told him about the vial, but decided she’d keep that bit of information to herself at least for one more night. Until she’d seen Grotto’s reaction.

  Portia was putting on her coat, ready to call it a day, when Detective Crawley, reeking of cigarette smoke and in need of a shave, showed up at her cubicle. She’d never much liked the man, but couldn’t fault him on his skills as a detective. He was just a little rough around the edges, which seemed to work for him, at least on the job.

  “You all get a call from Jay McKnight?” he asked. It was after five and Crawley was already wearing his rain jacket, a battered briefcase in one hand, a printout in the other.

  “No.”

  “He’s with the crime lab, teaches a night class at All Saints. A friend of mine from way back. I gave him your name.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s got an interest in those girls that went missing. Seems to think they’re more than just runaways, like you. Thought you might want to talk to him. Compare notes. He also asked me to look up some info on some of the teachers who work at the college.”