Nocturnal

by David Paul

  “Every so many years,” he said, “I have to fake my death and will my riches back to myself.” Fiona’s eyes light up with interest. She is starting to understand the complexity of her lover. “I can’t be eight hundred years old and collecting social security. Along the way, I’ve had to make sure that I kept putting money aside. In the early nineteen hundreds, I invested money that has been receiving interest for years.”

  “That is incredible,” Fiona said. “Tell me more!”

  “I own at least twenty businesses, and I even pay taxes,” he said. She couldn’t believe that the vampire paid taxes. “In the eyes of the government, I am a hard working entrepreneur.” Fiona laughs. “This time, I am willing it all to you.” Fiona was shocked. “I had your will drawn up, which has provisions for me to inherit everything back at a later date.”

  “I always wondered how you had so much money,” she said. Fiona shakes her head. “I thought you owned the car dealership.”

  “I do own a car dealership in Connecticut and several others in New York. I own the Italian restaurant we frequent, along with several apartment complexes, and the funeral parlor here in Rhode Island. I have stock in Apple and Microsoft,” he said.

  Fiona is speechless. On paper the vampire is totally clean. On paper, he wasn’t even a vampire.

  “I own an oil refinery in Texas, two hotels in Europe, a mansion on the Amalfi Coast, and much more,” the vampire said. “There is so much that you do not know about me. It is amazing what you can do with a little savvy and compounded interest over time.”

  “Holy shit,” she said. That was all that Fiona could muster. She never knew the extent of his business dealings.

  “My disappearing act gets harder and harder to accomplish as technology progresses,” he explained. The paper trail of the modern day citizen is not easy to get around. Modern technology makes it harder to fly under the radar. The last thirty or forty years have been the toughest for him. “I used to play dead, get buried, and then crawl out of the grave at night. In the past, I’ve faked drowning at sea. I’ve done the missing person thing. Once I bought the funeral home, it was much easier to bury a coffin with two-hundred pounds of dirt inside it.”

  “Honestly,” she said, “I never really thought about what you must have had to do.” Fiona is content with the lifestyle that she has with David, and she never questioned it. This new information is shocking, but it explains a great deal about things. “I always just saw you as David and never thought too far into it.”

  “This is a necessary pain in the ass,” he said. He has been doing this for years. Identity theft and fraud have been a means of survival for him. “I cannot let anyone else know my real business. We have been together for three years, and you have earned my trust.” Fiona is flattered that David holds her in such high regard. “I’m entrusting you with everything that I have. I have to leave my fortune to someone who isn’t a fabricated relative of mine because of the paper trail. After awhile, someone will notice that something is amiss.”

  “You can trust me, baby.” David looks her in the eye and instantly knows she is telling the truth. To David, it seemed like Fiona practically grew up overnight. The story that he told her about his past took away some of her innocence and naivety. “How do you manage to have all of these businesses, yet still be a vampire?” She asked.

  “Well first off,” he said, “I have people set in place to run the businesses, and all I do is collect the checks.” David lights up another cigarette. “My lawyer makes sure that everything is in place.”

  The vampire exhales.

  “Who is your lawyer?” She asked. Fiona delved deeper into his business.

  “Roman Alighieri,” he said. Roman is a relative to the vampire going back many generations. “He is a distant relative that I can trust. Roman is aware of what I am and protects me to the best of his ability. His representation allows me to operate freely because I am his only client, and his sole job is to look after my finances.”

  “I didn’t know that you had living relatives,” Fiona said.

  “Yes, he is quite alive.”

  The vampire pays him well. Roman is very wealthy himself.

  “He keeps me out of the spotlight and allows me to be a silent owner.” Roman is a genius financier that knows what to do with money. He has a knack for the stock and commodities markets, and he rarely loses his investments. “Your legal documents were drawn up by him, and they are brilliantly laid out with backdoor clauses and stipulations to work to our advantage.”

  “That’s absolutely perfect,” Fiona said. She looks at him with true bliss. “You amaze me more each day.”

  “Thanks, babe,” he said.

  The vampire has worked hard to build his wealth. Things are so much different in present times as compared to the past. David used to hoard gold, priceless artifacts, priceless artwork, and other tangible commodities for assets that could be turned into accessible cash. To this day, he has a vault filled with twenty-four karat, gold bars and priceless gold jewelry dating back to the Egyptian and Mayan era. David also has one of a kind artwork from such pioneers as Picasso and Rembrandt.

  Just one of his storage units could keep a museum busy for decades finding out the origins and the authenticity of the pieces. He still has an extensive collection of tangible commodities, but most of his real worth can be viewed on a computer screen. Roman takes care of making the money grow, and David no longer has to worry about such things.

  “Sign here,” the vampire said. The documents are marked with sticky tabs that indicate where Fiona’s signatures are required. Fiona goes through the paperwork, and she signs everywhere that needs her name. She doesn’t even ask questions. “Now that this is taken care of,” he said. David neatly puts the folder back in the dresser to be notarized at a later date. “Come with me.”

  The vampire motions for her to come with him.

  “Where are we going?” She asked.

  “To grab a bite to eat.”

  He has a weird look in his eye.

  “Should I dress for our usual spot?”

  “No,” he said. Fiona likes the spontaneity. “Dress in all black because we have some hunting to do.”

  “You are going to take me with you tonight?” She asked.

  His lady is very excited.

  “Only if you do exactly as I ask.”

  Chapter Nine: Deeper Inside the Vampire’s World

  David has been watching a man for several weeks now. This type of hunting or detective work takes time, and David has nothing, but time. Certain shops downtown specialize in magic and other curios related to magic. Some of these places are total rip-offs, while others have authentic components that could really be used for purposes of magic. The Black Talon was a shop of the latter variety that had a fantastic inventory of herbs, oils, and even artifacts that a serious magic user could employ. Ninety percent of the clientele bought high priced ingredients for novelty, and the other ten percent was whom he kept his eye on. The vampire isn’t concerned about some harmless Goth kids burning over-priced exotic herbs or buying wolfsbane because it sounded cool.

  When someone spends $750 on a half-ounce of demonroot, which is only used for human sacrifice and the wickedest of black magic rituals, then the vampire will look into it a little more closely. At that price, it clears out all of the suckers, and only the serious are left over. The herb itself is harmless until mixed with other agents, and only a few knowledgeable people know what to mix it with. The demonroot when cured in ethyl alcohol will put a subject into a calm trance-like state, which is perfect for a human sacrifice.

  It can also be processed into a powder form that can be thrown into unsuspecting people’s drinks or food. This powdered form was the Rufinol of the early ages. The side effects were memory loss, nausea, headache, lowered heart rate, lowered blood pressure, slow shallow breathing, and possibly death if the dosage was botched. If mixed properly, the concoction could be used to feign death as well. Government agencie
s overlook these types of plants and allow them as harmless herbal remedies. There are other uses for it, but creating the death trance is the most common usage for the plant. The FDA hadn’t figured that out yet.

  About two weeks ago, a man named Xavier Rawley bought a half-pound of demonroot from The Black Talon magic shop and totally wiped them out of their stock. Nobody drops twelve grand on an obscure weed extract that only grows naturally in a Brazilian rainforest and has such limited uses. Nobody does that unless they really need it for something. Mr. Rawley’s purchase didn’t mark him for death in David’s book, but he had the feeling that it would end up there upon further investigation.

  David had tailed him to a pricey downtown loft. Rawley had a few properties scattered around the state. The vampire wasn’t able to find anything strange about Rawley besides the odd purchase. Mr. Rawley was a wealthy stockbroker with no criminal history at all, and for some reason, David could not sense any evil in his heart. Usually, evil gives off a foul aura that is quickly recognized, but this man gave off no such aura. In fact, his aura was of a righteous nature, which was baffling. This intrigued David greatly and made him want to investigate more.

  Coincidentally, the body of a ritualistically murdered woman was found shortly after his purchase. Besides the obvious removal of the heart and missing reproductive organs, the autopsy results showed traces of this rare root in her bloodstream. The forensic analysts had narrowed it down to an alkaloid-like substance with traces of ethanol. They figured out the effects of the substance, but they didn’t narrow it down to the demonroot until they brought on a legitimate botanist to help them with the investigation.

  The botanist informed the department of the rarity of the plant, and how it was pretty easy to narrow down where it was sold. The shop advertised it online as one of the only importers of it. No suspects have been publicly announced in regards to the case, but the police were urgently looking for one. David and Fiona were all dressed in black and on their way out. The doorbell rings unexpectedly. David looks at Fiona puzzled.

  “Who in the hell is here right now?” The vampire asked.

  “I’m not sure.” she replied. She is just as puzzled.

  David looks through the peephole to see that it was a man at the door. Surveillance cameras show an unmarked police car outside in the driveway. In haste, the vampire had accidentally left the security gates open when he returned from his night out. He barely made it home before sunrise that night.

  “This guy is a policeman,” he said. The vampire wondered if someone saw him drop that body the other evening. “Go upstairs, and jump into the shower, now. Come downstairs only if called, and make sure you are dressed for a dinner.”

  “David Marciano, are you in there?” The cop asked. The policeman barked through the door. “My name is Detective Detangelo, and I need to have a word with you.”

  “Hold on a minute, sir. I wasn’t expecting company.” David opens the door for the man. “May I see your credentials?” The vampire asked.

  Detective Detangelo showed him a badge numbered #3592, and his identification read as Lieutenant Detective, Jack Detangelo of the Homicide Division of 23rd Precinct.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  “I was kind of on my way out.”

  “Look buddy,” the cop said, “you are not under arrest, but I do need to talk to you. We can do it here or at the station. It is your choice.”

  “Well since you are so charming, I guess we’ll do it here. Come in.”

  David directed the detective to a sitting room in his library off of the main foyer. The detective looked around at all of the priceless furniture and decor.

  Detangelo’s eyes wandered all around the house.

  “Nice place, Mr. Marciano.”

  “Thanks Detective.” David motioned toward a plush leather chair at an oaken reading table. “Please be seated.”

  The cop took his seat and got comfortable. David sat down across from him in a matching chair, and he analyzed the detective from head to toe. The detective appeared to be doing the same to David, but Detangelo was more obvious about his observations. The investigator had a scruffy five o’clock shadow and modest, but decent clothes. Detangelo wasn’t going to win a fashion award, but he didn’t look like a vagrant. The cop came across as being put together well. David sensed that the detective’s heart was pure, but somewhat bruised.

  “May I offer you a drink Lieutenant?” The vampire asked.

  David was able to smell the slightest hint of cheap Irish whiskey buried beneath cigarette smoke and hours-old chewing gum.

  “Actually, I would love one.” The cop responded a bit enthusiastically.

  “On the rocks, or do you want it straight up?” David asked.

  “Rocks will be fine. I am on duty still.”

  David purposely never asked Detangelo what his preference was, but walked over to a beautiful bar stocked with choice liquor, equivalent to an alcoholic’s wet dream. David poured him a tall glass of five hundred year-old, Irish whiskey made by Irish monks. It shimmered with that warm golden hue, and the ice danced to the top of the glass. It was a small poke at the officer, and he only did it to toy with his mind. Detangelo sipped the fine whiskey and smiled.

  “It was like you read my mind,” the cop said. He sipped from his glass again. The detective fancied the expensive liquor. It was worlds better than the cheap garbage that he drank.

  “Enjoy, officer.” The vampire pours a glass of wine for himself. “What is your reason for being here?” David asked.

  “Well, I came by earlier in the day, and no one seemed to be home, even though your Mercedes was in the garage.”

  “I was asleep, officer.”

  “So you were here at the time?” Detangelo asked.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “A little defensive, aren’t we?”

  “I was on my way out to dinner,” David said, “and now I’m answering twenty questions with you.”

  “Going to dinner alone?”

  “My girlfriend is just freshening up before we leave.”

  “One week ago on Friday the 9th, where were you that the evening?” The detective asked. The detective was referring to the evening that David followed Xavier Rawley all over town and to his the loft.

  “I don’t know what I did that night,” the vampire said. David responded with a grin. “Let me think.” The cop doesn’t like David’s arrogance. Maybe, it was the grin. “I think I drove around that night out of boredom.”

  “Do you know Xavier Rawley?”

  “I cannot say that I do, Detective Detangelo.” David is getting a bit agitated. The cop smells bullshit. “I don’t understand why you are here asking questions about people that I don’t even know,” the vampire said.

  “The reason,” Detangelo said, “is because you have been following around my top suspect in a murder case.”

  The detective took on an authoritative tone.

  “And what murder case would that be?” David asked.

  “The Roberta Coelho murder,” the detective said. David looks indifferent to this piece of information. “She was found carved up, Jack the Ripper style, in an abandoned factory building. The victim was bound to a makeshift alter.” David’s interest was peaked. “She also had a slew of unrecognizable writings all over her body, and that hasn’t been released to the press yet. We have a renowned demonologist working on the case to decipher the markings.”

  “Who do you have working it?” the vampire asked. He knew the probable answer, but he wanted to clown the cop. “Barry Steiner, from Boston?” The detective looked a bit puzzled.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I follow the occult,” the vampire said, “and Barry is a professional who excels in that discipline.” David picked apart the police investigation. “They call Barry to consult on anything occult motivated that happens in all of New England. I’ll bet he told you about the demonroot and how it is used.”

  “A
ctually a botanist identified the substance,” the cop said, “but it was Barry who filled us in on the uses of the demonroot.” The Lieutenant seemed slightly embarrassed. “How do you know all of this, David? Half of what we are discussing has not even gone public.”

  The smart detective is at least competent.

  “I know about it because I witnessed Rawley buy twelve thousand dollars worth of demonroot from The Black Talon,” the vampire said. The cop listened with a skeptical ear.

  “You just told me that you didn’t know Rawley,” the cop said.

  “A few days after Rawley’s purchase, your people found a body fresh from a satanic ritual.” David rolls right over the cop’s statement. “Was that pure coincidence?” David asked. The vampire was being sarcastic. It is obvious to the vampire, but not so obvious to the detective. “Demonroot is used almost exclusively in satanic rituals to dope up the sacrifice. It is used so that the victim will lie there calmly while people chant, and someone holds a dagger above their body,” David said.

  The vampire was being extra smug.

  “You know quite a bit about these sorts of things,” the detective said.

  Detangelo seemed quite impressed.

  “I found it odd that that someone would purchase such a large quantity,” David said. “It’s not something you would need to use that much of.”

  David truly could care less about being figured out by the detective. He could very easily charm the cop and make him forget why he came to the house in the first place. David was trying to get information out of the police officer. A stiff drink and a little prodding would be all that was needed to push the detective’s buttons. The vampire could read his mind, but that would be too easy. David enjoys matching wits with the detective and doesn’t call upon his dark abilities.

  David has almost eight hundred years of wisdom, and even though Detangelo is a top-notch detective, the policeman is completely outmatched. The detective is immediately aware that David is very poised, confident, and quick with his answers with no signs of stumbling on his words. The vampire’s body language didn’t give anything away either. In the detective’s mind, that made David either completely innocent or a cold and calculated psychopath. They both sat there and tried to read each other like they were professional poker players.