The Scene (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  “Oh, yeah. Okay, what time?” I still wasn't fully awake.

  “Eight o'clock tonight. Will you be able to make it?”

  “Most likely. What time is it?”

  “It is six in the evening.” He said this with the utmost concern.

  “Uh, yeah. I just have to shower. Where is this place?”

  “I could help you with the showering if you should require assistance.”

  God, what a prick. “No thanks. I got it under control. Can you tell me where I’m going? Or should I use my Jedi mind powers to figure it out?”

  “Ooh, love the hostility. You have a pen handy?” He didn't wait for me to say yes before he rattled off some numbers and a street that didn't sound at all familiar. “There's a big plaque out front with 'Sween' scrolled on it. You can't miss it.”

  “Okay, thanks. See you there,” I said hurriedly.

  “Oh, I won't be there.”

  “What do you mean you won't be there? We're just supposed to show up and talk to some random guy about some shit we know nothing about?” Yeah, that made sense.

  “I have an important meeting myself, at Macabre Saturnine.” I could hear his stupid smile over the phone. Luckily, I couldn’t see the damn thing or I might not have been able to be so rude. He just has one of those smiles that make you want to slap him and kiss him. Deciding which was my biggest hurdle.

  “Well, you can be late. All of this is your fault asshole and as far as I'm concerned, it’s your responsibility to see this through to the end.” I let my inner bitch slide from my lips.

  “Yes Ma'am. Anything you say.” I could hear him smiling on the other end.

  “Ugh. Whatever, just be there at eight.” I hung up.

  Fuck it, I’m glad my dream was ruined.

  How is it possible for one person to turn you on and drive you nuts in the same breath? Although the sex to hatred ratio was changing every time I talked to the bastard.

  "Was that our favorite boy wonder?" Tatum croaked out with in a groggy voice.

  "None other." I rolled my eyes. "He's set up a meeting with McTavish for eight p.m."

  I flopped on the bed and rolled my head around until I could make out the clock perched high atop the dresser. I blinked my eyes twice to ensure I was really seeing the time right, six p.m.

  Fuck.

  "Ugh. Come on, T, we gotta get our asses in gear if we're gonna make it there by eight."

  "Do you know where we're going?" she asked nonchalantly as she padded barefoot and half-dressed to the bathroom.

  "It's called Sween. That's about as far as I got before he started driving me nuts and I stopped listening."

  "God, Dylan just nail him already and get it over with," she called from the bathroom.

  "Whatever. He's not even hot anymore. He's just this little annoying fly buzzing around ruining my life." Who am I kidding? He’s the hottest thing to even pay attention to me. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  "Aww, you like him."

  “Fuck off. He’s an ass and you know it. It’s kind of pathetic actually. How someone so damn fine could be such a fucking goober. Besides, I get the feeling he’s hiding something.”

  "You get the feeling he knows more than he’s letting on?" she asked pressingly.

  "Like maybe he's more than McTavish’s little lackey? You bet your ass I do. How deep into it he is, I'm not sure. But what I can say for certain is, my spidey-sense has been tingling since the second we walked into those cheesy double doors at Embrace. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I can tell you this shit ain't right."

  “I know you were out to catch some dirty juice on the latest slashers, but this whole underground scene might make for a very interesting read. What with all the hype about vampires these days, you could target all the little kiddies running around with black lipstick clutching the newest release of Vampire Boyfriend magazine. I say get while the gettin’s good.”

  “There's a Vampire Boyfriend magazine?” I asked idiotically not thinking before I spoke.

  “Oh yeah. I get a monthly subscription,” she said sarcastically as she dug through her immense closet in search of something to wear.

  “Maybe you’re right. The events of last night, though still very foggy, did peak my interest. Shit, I don't know. I got so wrapped up in that dingle berry last night, I lost track of why I was in that dump in the first place.” I sat solemn faced on the edge of the bed. “That's it.” I stood up in a huff. “After we see this douche tonight and find out what that shit was all about, I am done with Cyrus and all that bullshit. Jesus, I haven’t even begun really working this story yet. I have four or five pages of plot lines and scribbled notes; I’m fucked. Starting tomorrow morning, I’m back in the game. I’ll be one hundred percent focused. I’ll start researching the case files and pushing the cops for statements. I can force Mike to help with that.” My eyes felt wild and I caught myself pacing. “I gotta get back to basics. Back to the days of hoofing the streets for information and paying informants to talk. I will crack this case wide open!” I stomped off to the bathroom and shut the door hard.

  After a minute or two, I came back out of the bathroom. I felt a bit better after my little outburst, but I knew I had a long road ahead. A road filled with setbacks, stupid detectives, and dead girls. I knew there would be more dead girls.

  “Feel better?” Tatum asked, distracted by her fancy phone and social network.

  “A little. I just want to get today over with. I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to get to the bottom of all these dead whores. Lord knows the police aren't solving any mysteries any time soon.” I sighed. “Will you be the Daphne to my Velma?” I looked to Tatum seriously.

  “I’ll do my best to live up to the reputation of Daphne. Maybe we can paint 'Mystery Machine' on your shit mobile.” She chuckled pulling out a casual summer dress from her overstuffed closet.

  We didn't talk much more after that. I was still really tired, even though I’d slept all day, and my brain wasn’t functioning on full capacity. Tatum didn't quite seem on top of her game either. We had had a long couple of days and it still wasn't over. I kept reminding myself that I just had to get through tonight and I could go home, eat, and sack the fuck out.

  Tatum and I took our turns in the shower, moving as quickly as we could so not to waste time. Tatum dragged out some jeans and a tank top of mine from a drawer filled with shit I had left there over the years. That drawer always came in handy in a pinch. I threw my clothes on, whipped some mascara and smeared Burt’s Bees across my lips. Tossing my wild hair up into a ponytail, I was set to go see a vampire about some drugs…or something like that.

  “Ready, slut?” Tatum asked as she grabbed her purse and keys. This meant we were taking her car for which I was grateful. I didn't have to drive. Plus she drove a Honda s2000 so the ride would be cushy and likely too fast.

  I slid into the jet-black sports car and let my butt sink into the plush leather seat. After a quick online search, Tatum entered the address we’d found for Sween into her GPS. A British woman came over the tiny speaker announcing, in a prerecorded tone, our destination was one hour and twenty-five minutes away. I hardly had time to buckle my seatbelt before my face was thrust into the dash from the force of Tatum screeching down the driveway. I was slammed back into my seat when she abruptly shifted into first and floored it to the 405 North.

  After forty-five minutes of heart pounding, nail-biting, adrenaline packed fun, I had killed nearly half a pack of cigarettes and had no clue where I was. Once again, the British woman came over the tiny speaker, this time instructing Tatum to turn right in fifty feet. We would have missed the turn completely if we hadn't seen the neatly scrolled sign signifying the entrance. Tatum jerked the wheel to the right and fishtailed her way into the drive. The long driveway was paved with bricks and lined with weeping willows. Not too far up ahead stood a three story building. It actually looked more like a Southern plantation, but I'm a journalist, not an architect, so who am I t
o say for sure? The many windows glowed from the lights inside as we drove around the curved driveway. Tatum slowed to a crawl as we passed the front of Sween Enterprises as identified by the, once again, neatly scrolled plaque hanging largely from the eve of the porch. The plantation style home looked oddly out of place for Southern California.

  "You suppose they chose this specific location on purpose?" Tatum asked with her eyes glued on the portentous building to her right.

  "Location, location, location." I answered watching the lamplights flicker casting ghostlike shadows on the stark white, wood siding of the front porch.

  Tatum pulled the car over and parked just past the front steps. I was still staring intently at the three story plantation building as I exited the death trap Tatum called a car.

  Are they trying to be scary? The guy owns two Goth clubs that I know of; does he really have to set up a modeling agency in a creepy old house in the middle of nowhere, too? Keeping up with appearances I guess.

  I let out a girly yelp and jumped two-feet in the air when Tatum beeped the alarm on the car.

  “A bit jumpy are we?” Tatum asked.

  “No, just wasn't paying attention.” Okay, so I was a little jumpy.

  “Where's your boy toy? Isn't he supposed meet us here?” she asked.

  “Who knows, probably flaked out. God, he’s such a piece of-”

  “Oh, come now, that's not nice.” I was startled by the new voice suddenly coming from atop the front steps. There stood the fucker in question, looking as beautiful as ever.

  Maybe I'll punch him tonight.

  “Where'd you come from?” I asked. My voice came out a little shaky.

  “From just inside. I saw you pull up through the window.” I nodded at him, still checking my surroundings. I was betting it wouldn't have been so creepy if I'd been there during the daylight. Maybe if it was owned by a nice old granny instead of some vampire Goth freak, but you get what you get I guess.

  “Would you like to come in?” Cyrus asked from the top step with Tatum in tow.

  When did she get up there? I need sleep.

  “Let's get to it.” I took that first hesitant step up the stairs and let out the breath I'd been holding. Not so bad, right?

  “You’re looking better. Not even swollen. How is that?” I asked, honestly curious as to how he looked just as perfect as he had before Tatum rocked him.

  “Hollywood baby, nothing is as it seems.” He smiled that ridiculous smile of his and I forgot why I had been questioning his appearance in the first place.

  The abode was just as I'd expected: fucking creepy. Everything inside matched the old plantation look of the outside. Tiffany lamps sat atop claw footed tables filling each corner of the room, softly lighting unnecessary areas and leaving grim shadows elsewhere. A large over-the-top staircase loomed over us. A gold carpet clung tight to each step. The room to the right was left pitch black making me feel a little uneasy. To the left of us was a waiting area adorned with more Tiffany lamps upon claw footed tables, and a crimson fainting couch I would have stolen if I had the trunk space. I meandered into the room with the beautiful couch, scoping out the pad. A large cherry wood table sat in the middle of the room scattered with magazines.

  “Sandora?” I asked, reading the cover of the magazine.

  “Yes, Malcolm’s new pet project. Think of it as a Vampires Quarterly. Gives information about upcoming shows and events, and obviously features Sween's finest,” he said smiling smugly.

  “Ah, explains a lot,” I said sarcastically tossing the macabre Tiger Beat back on the table.

  “If you ladies will excuse me, I will let Mr. McTavish know you have arrived.” At that, he turned on his heel and bounded up the stairs.

  “Can that guy pick whether he's going to be a dick or dashing? Seriously...” I was growing tired of the inner turmoil he created in me. Should I like him? Should I hate him? Should I give him a shot? Should I kill him? So many choices…so few alibis.

  Tatum and I took a seat on the couch that made me envious. It reminded me vaguely of the dream I’d had earlier. Only this time I was accompanied by Tatum and not some dork in leather pants. Also, I highly doubted Tatum would try to bite me. Well except that one time, but that’s neither here nor there.

  “What is with this place? I was kind of thinking Sween Enterprises would be, I don't know, more enterprise-y,” I said looking around the room.

  “I know. I was thinking city and skyscrapers too. But, I guess if one makes their living on all that is dark and bloody, they'd better fit the part or they'll lose their target audience,” Tatum answered.

  “This is true,” I agreed. “Or, he's a big scary vampire.” That idea was becoming more and more conceivable as time went on.

  “Good evening, ladies. Thank you so much for coming.” We jumped, turned, and stared in that order. The man standing before us did not belong anywhere near L.A. I knew immediately the man standing before us was Malcolm McTavish; the accent gave him away. Honestly, Cyrus did it no justice. Aside from the expertly tailored charcoal black suit, there was nothing about him that said Southern California. His skin was milk white and looked like it might have the same consistency. His thick, wavy, shoulder length hair was an almost unnatural shade of red, nearly matching the couch we were sitting on. Though his voice was cordial, it didn't meet his face. The ocean blue of his eyes was his only saving grace from such a stark and harsh appearance. It was the face of a war torn soldier, that of one who had seen more than their fair share of bullshit for one life time.

  I stood to greet him, handing him my hand to shake. He kissed it instead, having to bend nearly in half to reach me. Normally I would have grumbled, but after the last two days, I was growing accustomed to random kissing. He was really wide and stocky for being so tall. Taller than Tatum’s Amazonian frame.

  “Thank you for having us, sir. We are here, actually, to-” I started to speak, but Tatum cut me off.

  “Find out what the fuck you’re drugging your patrons with to make them see crazy shit,” Tatum said from behind me with a disgustingly sweet smile.

  “You look quite familiar. Have we met?” He was staring at Tatum, studying her face. Her eyes went wide for a second before returning to their usual blankness.

  “Probably not. I'd remember that accent, trust me. So, about this completely safe, harmless, all natural bullshit you’re pumping into these people every night. We need to know exactly what we took, what happened to us after we took it, and why this morning we woke up in this dingle berries apartment?...Please.” She ended her rant with a smile. I had a feeling she was still kind of bent out of shape from this morning’s bloodbath. Her voice held contentment. Especially when she mentioned Cyrus.

  “If you young ladies would not mind accompanying me to my office, I would be more than happy to explain it all to you.” The Irish brogue was mesmerizing; it rolled off his tongue with the eloquence of a fifteenth-century poet.

  “Of course.” I nodded. “You're not off the hook yet, dude,” I said as I grabbed the quickly fleeing Cyrus just moments before his great escape. He stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel, and saluted me.

  Something violent is about to happen to this beautiful man.

  The three of us followed the fiery red hair up the stairs. The gold carpet was soft, lush and probably very expensive. Once on the next floor, the lighting and décor began to change. Large spotlight-type, lights stood high atop metal tripod structures. The new, brighter, more industrialized, lighting was a stark contrast to the soft Tiffany lamps down stairs. There was only one door to the right, closed of course.

  Damn.

  To the left was a large open landing where the new, bright lighting, was emanating. It was fully equipped with professional cameras and lighting configurations. Large beautiful drapes hung around the space, creating a very interesting backdrop. I was guessing they did all photography and publishing of Sandora in-house. There were a few very attractive people lounging upon yet another
fainting couch I would have stolen. This time it was done in a royal blue. One of those attractive people caught my eye and smiled viciously, Dominika.

  Fuck.

  She handed off the long-stemmed glass she was holding and slid gracefully off the couch. She began moving toward us slinking and swaying as only someone so fierce can do. As she had the night before, she focused her sights on Cyrus, but unlike last night, I couldn’t care less.

  “Cyrus, my darling, I see you have brought my lovely friend back to visit me,” she said slyly, kissing him on either cheek. The thick Russian-type accent was beginning to make me sick.

  “The statuesque blonde.” She kissed Tatum on either cheek. Tatum returned the kiss; mimicking Dominika’s movements.

  “And the Rubenesque brunette.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek. As she did this, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and planted one on the bitch. Just as she had done to Tatum, I held her tight and kissed her as hard as I could. I'm pretty sure it didn't look as hot with me doing it, but I didn't care. I wanted to throw this skank off her game. After a moment or so, I pulled back, preparing to see the shock on her face. But to my surprise, she didn't let me go. She grabbed the back of my head and held it so hard I thought she'd pull me right into her mouth. Just as suddenly as it happened, it was over. She pulled her head back and gave me the same evil smirk she had given Tatum the previous evening.

  “I am glad to see you have let go of those pesky inhibitions.” She leaned in closely and whispered so only I would hear. “He will always think of me.” At that she turned, greeted Malcolm, and sauntered back to her perch upon the coveted royal blue fainting couch. It took all I had not to tear into her throat with my bare hands.

  I now had the opportunity to glance around at my entourage. As I suspected, they were all staring, jaws dragging the floor, eyes wide in shock. All but Malcolm. He was still composed and waiting patiently.

  “Close your mouth, sweetie. You'll catch flies.” I touched my finger to Cyrus' chin closing it softly. I winked at Tatum and turned to join Malcolm at the bottom of the second flight of stairs. The narrow stairwell was only wide enough for one at a time.