The Mammoth Book of Vampires: New edition (Mammoth Books)

by Stephen Jones

  “That was rather a notorious circle you were travelling in. Further, you were, if I understand you correctly, overindulging a bit that evening.”

  “A few glasses of champagne and a little toot never did anything before but make me a bit giggly and talkative.” Lisette sipped her half of lager; she’d never developed a taste for English bitter, and at least the lager was chilled. They sat across from each other at a table the size of a hubcap; she in the corner of a padded bench against the wall, he at a chair set out into the room, pressed in by a wall of standing bodies. A foot away from her on the padded bench, three young men huddled about a similar table, talking animatedly. For all that, she and Dr Magnus might have been all alone in the room. Lisette wondered if the psychologist who had coined the faddish concept of “space” had been inspired in a crowded English pub.

  “It isn’t just that I fainted at the party. It isn’t just the nightmares.” She paused to find words. “It’sjust that everything somehow seems to be drifting out of focus, out of control. It’s . . . well, it’s frightening.”

  “Precisely why we must continue.”

  “Precisely why we must not.” Lisette sighed. They’d covered this ground already. It had been a moment of weakness when she agreed to allow Dr Magnus to buy her a drink afterward instead of heading back to the flat. Still, he had been so distressed when she told him she was terminating their sessions.

  “I’ve tried to cooperate with you as best I could, and I’m certain you are entirely sincere in your desire to help me.” Well, she wasn’t all that certain, but no point in going into that. “However, the fact remains that since we began these sessions, my nerves have gone to hell. You say they’d be worse without the sessions. I say the sessions have made them worse, and maybe there’s no connection at all – it’s just that my nerves have gotten worse, so now I’m going to trust my intuition and try life without these sessions. Fair enough?”

  Dr Magnus gazed uncomfortably at his barely tasted glass of sherry. “While I fully understand your rationale, I must in all conscience beg you to reconsider, Lisette. You are running risks that . . .”

  “Look. If the nightmares go away, then terrific. If they don’t, I can always pack up and head back to San Francisco. That way I’ll be clear of whatever it is about London that disagrees with me, and if not, I’ll see my psychiatrist back home.”

  “Very well, then.” Dr Magnus squeezed her hand. “However, please bear in mind that I remain eager to continue our sessions at any time, should you change your mind.”

  “That’s fair enough, too. And very kind of you.”

  Dr Magnus lifted his glass of sherry to the light. Pensively, he remarked: “Amber.”

  X

  “Lisette?”

  Danielle locked the front door behind her and hung up her inadequate umbrella in the hallway. She considered her face in the mirror and grimaced at the mess of her hair. “Lisette? Are you here?”

  No answer, and her rain things were not in the hallway. Either she was having a late session with Dr Magnus, or else she’d wisely decided to duck under cover until this bloody rain let up. After she’d had to carry Lisette home in a taxi when she passed out at the party. Danielle was starting to feel real concern over her state of health.

  Danielle kicked off her damp shoes as she entered the living room. The curtains were drawn against the greyness outside, and she switched on a lamp to brighten the flat a bit. Her dress clung to her like a clammy fish-skin; she shivered, and thought about a cup of coffee. If Lisette hadn’t returned yet, there wouldn’t be any brewed. She’d have a warm shower instead, and after that she’d see to the coffee – if Lisette hadn’t returned to set a pot going in the meantime.

  “Lisette?” Their bedroom was empty. Danielle turned on the overhead light. Christ, it was gloomy! So much for long English summer evenings – with all the rain, she couldn’t remember when she’d last seen the sun. She struggled out of her damp dress, spread it flat across her bed with the vague hope that it might not wrinkle too badly, then tossed her bra and tights onto a chair.

  Slipping into her bathrobe, Danielle padded back into the living room. Still no sign of Lisette, and it was past nine. Perhaps she’d stopped off at a pub. Crossing to the stereo, Danielle placed the new Blondie album on the turntable and turned up the volume. Let the neighbors complain – at least this would help dispel the evening’s gloom.

  She cursed the delay needed to adjust the shower temperature to satisfaction, then climbed into the tub. The hot spray felt good, and she stood under it contentedly for several minutes – initially revitalized, then lulled into a delicious sense of relaxation. Through the rush of the spray, she could hear the muffled beat of the stereo. As she reached for the shampoo, she began to move her body with the rhythm.

  The shower curtain billowed as the bathroom door opened. Danielle risked a soapy squint around the curtain – she knew the flat was securely locked, but after seeing Psycho . . . It was only Lisette, already undressed, her long blonde hair falling over her breasts.

  “Didn’t hear you come in with the stereo going,” Danielle greeted her. “Come on in before you catch cold.”

  Danielle resumed lathering her hair as the shower curtain parted and the other girl stepped into the tub behind her. Her eyes squeezed shut against the soap, she felt Lisette’s breasts thrust against her back, her flat belly press against her buttocks. Lisette’s hands came around her to cup her breasts gently.

  At least Lisette had gotten over her silly tiff about Eddie Teeth. She’d explained to Lisette that she’d ditched that greasy slob when he’d tried to dry hump her on the dance floor, but how do you reason with a silly thing who faints at the sight of a snake?

  “Jesus, you’re chilled to the bone!” Danielle complained with a shiver. “Better stand under the shower and get warm. Did you get caught in the rain?”

  The other girl’s fingers continued to caress her breasts, and instead of answering, her lips teased the nape of Danielle’s neck. Danielle made a delighted sound deep in her throat, letting the spray rinse the lather from her hair and over their embraced bodies. Languidly she turned about to face her lover, closing her arms about Lisette’s shoulders for support.

  Lisette’s kisses held each taut nipple for a moment, teasing them almost painfully. Danielle pressed the other girl’s face to her breasts, sighed as her kisses nibbled upward to her throat. She felt weak with arousal, and only Lisette’s strength held her upright in the tub. Her lover’s lips upon her throat tormented her beyond enduring; Danielle gasped and lifted Lisette’s face to meet her own.

  Her mouth was open to receive Lisette’s red-lipped kiss, and it opened wider as Danielle stared into the eyes of her lover. Her first emotion was one of wonder.

  “You’re not Lisette!”

  It was nearly midnight when Lisette unlocked the door to their flat and quietly let herself in. Only a few lights were on, and there was no sign of Danielle – either she had gone out, or, more likely, had gone to bed.

  Lisette hung up her raincoat and wearily pulled off her shoes. She’d barely caught the last train. She must have been crazy to let Dr Magnus talk her into returning to his office for another session that late, but then he was quite right: as serious as her problems were, she really did need all the help he could give her. She felt a warm sense of gratitude to Dr Magnus for being there when she so needed his help.

  The turntable had stopped, but a light on the amplifier indicated that the power was still on. Lisette cut it off and closed the lid over the turntable. She felt too tired to listen to an album just now.

  She became aware that the shower was running. In that case, Danielle hadn’t gone to bed. She supposed she really ought to apologize to her for letting Midge’s bitch lies get under her skin. After all, she had ruined the party for Danielle; poor Danielle had had to get her to bed and had left the party without ever getting to meet Beth Garrington, and she was the one Beth had invited in the first place.

  �
��Danielle? I’m back.” Lisette called through the bathroom door. “Do you want anything?”

  No answer. Lisette looked into their bedroom, just in case Danielle had invited a friend over. No, the beds were still made up; Danielle’s clothes were spread out by themselves.

  “Danielle?” Lisette raised her voice. Perhaps she couldn’t hear over the noise of the shower. “Danielle?” Surely she was all right.

  Lisette’s feet felt damp. She looked down. A puddle of water was seeping beneath the door. Danielle must not have the shower curtains closed properly.

  “Danielle! You’re flooding us!”

  Lisette opened the door and peered cautiously within. The curtain was closed, right enough. A thin spray still reached through a gap, and the shower had been running long enough for the puddle to spread. It occurred to Lisette that she should see Danielle’s silhouette against the translucent shower curtain.

  “Danielle!” She began to grow alarmed. “Danielle! Are you all right?”

  She pattered across the wet tiles and drew aside the curtain. Danielle lay in the bottom of the tub, the spray falling on her upturned smile, her flesh paler than the porcelain of the tub.

  XI

  It was early afternoon when they finally allowed her to return to the flat. Had she been able to think of another place to go, she probably would have gone there. Instead, Lisette wearily slumped onto the couch, too spent to pour herself the drink she desperately wanted.

  Somehow she had managed to phone the police, through her hysteria make them understand where she was. Once the squad car arrived, she had no further need to act out of her own initiative; she simply was carried along in the rush of police investigation. It wasn’t until they were questioning her at New Scotland Yard that she realized she herself was not entirely free from suspicion.

  The victim had bled to death, the medical examiner ruled, her blood washed down the tub drain. A safety razor used for shaving legs had been opened, its blade removed. There were razor incisions along both wrists, directed lengthwise, into the radial artery, as opposed to the shallow, crosswise cuts utilized by suicides unfamiliar with human anatomy. There was, in addition, an incision in the left side of the throat. It was either a very determined suicide, or a skillfully concealed murder. In view of the absence of any signs of forced entry or of a struggle, more likely the former. The victim’s roommate did admit to a recent quarrel. Laboratory tests would indicate whether the victim might have been drugged or rendered unconscious through a blow. After that, the inquest would decide.

  Lisette had explained that she had spent the evening with Dr Magnus. The fact that she was receiving emotional therapy, as they interpreted it, caused several mental notes to be made. Efforts to reach Dr Magnus by telephone proved unsuccessful, but his secretary did confirm that Miss Seyrig had shown up for her appointment the previous afternoon. Dr Magnus would get in touch with them as soon as he returned to his office. No, she did not know why he had cancelled today’s appointments, but it was not unusual for Dr Magnus to dash off suddenly when essential research demanded immediate attention.

  After a while they let Lisette make phone calls. She phoned her parents, then wished she hadn’t. It was still the night before in California, and it was like turning back the hands of time to no avail. They urged her to take the next flight home, but of course it wasn’t all that simple, and it just wasn’t feasible for either of them to fly over on a second’s notice, since after all there really was nothing they could do. She phoned Maitland Reddin, who was stunned at the news and offered to help in anyway he could, but Lisette couldn’t think of any way. She phoned Midge Vaughn, who hung up on her. She phoned Dr Magnus, who still couldn’t be reached. Mercifully, the police took care of phoning Danielle’s next of kin.

  A physician at New Scotland Yard had spoken with her briefly and had given her some pills – a sedative to ease her into sleep after her ordeal. They had driven her back to the flat after impressing upon her the need to be present at the inquest. She must not be concerned should any hypothetical assailant yet be lurking about, inasmuch as the flat would be under surveillance.

  Lisette stared dully about the flat, still unable to comprehend what had happened. The police had been thorough – measuring, dusting for fingerprints, leaving things in a mess. Bleakly, Lisette tried to convince herself that this was only another nightmare, that in a moment Danielle would pop in and find her asleep on the couch. Christ, what was she going to do with all of Danielle’s things? Danielle’s mother was remarried and living in Colorado; her father was an executive in a New York investment corporation. Evidently he had made arrangements to have the body shipped back to the States.

  “Oh, Danielle.” Lisette was too stunned for tears. Perhaps she should check into a hotel for now. No, she couldn’t bear being all alone with her thoughts in a strange place. How strange to realize now that she really had no close friends in London other than Danielle – and what friends she did have were mostly people she’d met through Danielle.

  She’d left word with Dr Magnus’s secretary for him to call her once he came in. Perhaps she should call there once again, just in case Dr Magnus had missed her message. Lisette couldn’t think what good Dr Magnus could do, but he was such an understanding person, and she felt much better whenever she spoke with him.

  She considered the bottle of pills in her bag. Perhaps it would be best to take a couple of them and sleep around the clock. She felt too drained just now to have energy enough to think.

  The phone began to ring. Lisette stared at it for a moment without comprehension, then lunged up from the couch to answer it.

  “Is this Lisette Seyrig?”

  It was a woman’s voice – one Lisette didn’t recognize. “Yes. Who’s calling, please?”

  “This is Beth Garrington, Lisette. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  “You poor dear! Maitland Redding phoned to tell me of the tragedy. I can’t tell you how shocked I am. Danielle seemed such a dear from our brief contact, and she had such a great talent.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry you weren’t able to know her better.” Lisette sensed guilt and embarrassment at the memory of that brief contact.

  “Darling, you can’t be thinking about staying in that flat alone. Is there someone there with you?”

  “No, there isn’t. That’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t be silly. Listen, I have enough empty bedrooms in this old barn to open a hotel. Why don’t you just pack a few things and come straight over?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I really couldn’t.”

  “Nonsense! It’s no good for you to be there all by yourself. Strange as this may sound, but when I’m not throwing one of these invitational riots, this is a quiet little backwater and things are dull as church. I’d love the company, and it will do you a world of good to get away.”

  “You’re really very kind to invite me, but I . . .”

  “Please, Lisette – be reasonable. I have guest rooms here already made up, and I’ll send the car around to pick you up. All you need do is say yes and toss a few things into your bag. After a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel much more like coping with things tomorrow.”

  When Lisette didn’t immediately reply, Beth added carefully: “Besides, Lisette. I understand the police haven’t ruled out the possibility of murder. In that event, unless poor Danielle simply forgot to lock up, there is a chance that whoever did this has a key to your flat.”

  “The police said they’d watch the house.”

  “He might also be someone you both know and trust, someone Danielle invited in.”

  Lisette stared wildly at the sinister shadows that lengthened about the flat. Her refuge had been violated. Even familiar objects seemed tainted and alien. She fought back tears. “I don’t know what to think.” She realized she’d been clutching the receiver for a long, silent interval.

  “Poor dear! There’s nothing you
need think about! Now listen. I’m at my solicitor’s tidying up some property matters for Aunt Julia. I’ll phone right now to have my car sent around for you. It’ll be there by the time you pack your toothbrush and pyjamas, and whisk you straight off to bucolic Maida Vale. The maids will plump up your pillows for you, and you can have a nice nap before I get home for dinner. Poor darling, I’ll bet you haven’t eaten a thing. Now, say you’ll come.”

  “Thank you. It’s awfully good of you. Of course I will.”

  “Then it’s done. Don’t worry about a thing, Lisette. I’ll see you this evening.”

  XII

  Dr Magnus hunched forward on the narrow seat of the taxi, wearily massaging his forehead and temples. It might not help his mental fatigue, but maybe the reduced muscle tension would ease his headache. He glanced at his watch. Getting on past ten. He’d had no sleep last night, and it didn’t look as if he’d be getting much tonight. If only those girls would answer their phone!

  It didn’t help matters that his conscience plagued him. He had broken a sacred trust. He should never have made use of posthypnotic suggestion last night to persuade Lisette to return for a further session. It went against all principles, but there had been no other course: the girl was adamant, and he had to know – he was so close to establishing final proof. If only for one final session of regressive hypnosis . . .

  Afterward he had spent a sleepless night, too excited for rest, at work in his study trying to reconcile the conflicting elements of Lisette’s released memories with the historical data his research had so far compiled. By morning he had been able to pull together just enough facts to deepen the mystery. He had phoned his secretary at home to cancel all his appointments, and had spent the day at the tedious labor of delving through dusty municipal records and newspaper files, working feverishly as the past reluctantly yielded one bewildering clue after another.