Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “Oh, get out of my way!” Jake blurted, shoving Rex out of his way. “Here,” Jake said offering his hand to Rachel. She took it. He helped her up all the while glowering into the face of Rex who continued to look on.

  “Thanks,” she said. It felt odd to have her legs beneath her. It had felt so much better with them stretched out in the air, flying through space …

  She stopped herself. That didn’t happen. It was a dream – a nightmare. She felt the side of her throat through the woven, black shawl. It still hurt. She considered whether she was getting sick, but it wasn’t the same type of feeling that she got when coming down with a sore throat. It was different, strange. And why did she feel so weak? She must have fainted. It was the only thing that made any sense.

  “You’re right, I must have fainted. I don’t feel so well,” she muttered, sweeping her hand across her forehead. She felt Rex’s hands under her left arm and around her waist. He wasn’t giving up his hold on her until he was assured she was alright.

  “For God sake’s, Rex,” Jake said moving away. He crossed his arms and looked at her. He seemed hostile – angry – but about what? That she’d passed out?

  “You look like an ass standing there, gripping her like a sack of sugar. She just said she fainted. No mystery illness, no need for a doctor and no need for the museum to be liable for a nuisance lawsuit from a disgruntled worker because, as you can see,” Jake motioned, “there are no objects she could have slipped or tripped over. Nor are there any spots on the floor damaged or cracked.”

  So that was it. Jake was worried about a lawsuit. It was so like him. All he thought about was money and taking advantage of people. Naturally, he assumed everyone else thought the same way. They didn’t. He need only look to Rex as proof of that.

  “You and your fucking lawsuits! The world runs on things other than money! This isn’t about that!” Rex yelled out, not wavering in his stalwart attempt to keep her righted and erect. “Why don’t you tell her she should go home? Or does the thought of her using one of her sick days cause your body to break out in hives or something?”

  She saw Jake’s jaw react angrily to Rex’s sarcasm. It was so strange to hear Rex speaking like this. He was such a mild-mannered guy – and yet, in situations like these, he was almost fearless. Especially when the situation involved Jake. There was no love lost between them. Still, she was surprised at the unbridled hostility Rex was using in his tone. After all, Jake was his boss and Rex needed his job. It seemed to Rachel that Rex was almost daring Jake to fire him. If he did, she knew that it set-up the opportunity for more fireworks when Rex sued the pants off him for wrongful termination.

  Jake raised his hand and shot a forefinger at Rex. There was considerable tension in his body – he looked like he was about to attack. As suddenly as the fury appeared, it dissipated. Jake relaxed. He used his forefinger to rub the side of his chin.

  “Rex, I think you have a point. I don’t see any reason for Rachel to hang around if she’s not feeling well. That is, if she did her job.” Jake walked a step closer to her almost challenging her. He put his hands on his hips, “You did finish with the shipment didn’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s why I stayed last night – to do the paperwork. Everything is completed. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Then you were here all night?”

  Rachel nodded, “Yes.”

  “Jeez, Rachel. You could really be hurt. We need to call a doctor.”

  “Rex, could you shut the hell up! You heard her.”

  The two men paused waiting for Rachel to confirm or deny Jake’s assertion. She said nothing. Jake took it as agreement. He smiled and let his hands fall to his sides.

  “Great, then I’ll leave it for you,” he said addressing Rex, ”to start unpacking all this and start setting up the exhibits. We only have a couple of weeks.”

  “I know the schedule,” Rex answered sharply. He wasn’t backing down.

  Jake cocked his head, letting Rex know that he was keeping a mental accounting of what he was saying and how he was saying it. Rex didn’t seem to care.

  “… except there was a mistake,” she added timidly. She knew Jake wasn’t going to like this, but she had to tell him about the candlesticks. They couldn’t be in that old coffin. Unless that dream was right and … She inhaled deeply closing her eyes. It was a dream – all a bad dream.

  “Mistake? What sort of mistake?”

  Jake whirled around. He was now fully interested. He crossed his arms and leaned forward.

  “Number 23 …” Rachel replied demurely, looking up and seeing the huge rectangular packing crate. It was right where she remembered seeing it last night. “That is supposed to contain a pair of Victorian candlesticks.”

  “What? That huge crate?”

  Rachel nodded. Jake uncrossed his arms and strode over to it. She looked at Rex. He walked to the side of her.

  “But there’s nothing in here!”

  She was by his side now. She looked down and saw it was empty. The pine box she’d ripped open was gone. Someone had taken it, but who? She remembered more of the dream. An old face – sick with age – the voice – the kisses – Peter! That’s where she’d gotten that name.

  She put her hand on her stomach trying to quiet her queasiness. She felt as if she were going to be ill.

  “I know,” she lied.

  “You mean it was empty? But how did this even get open in the first place? Did you open it?”

  She didn’t like doing this, but had no choice. She couldn’t let them know what really happened. She had to think of something to say – and quickly.

  “Yes, I opened it, because it was marked correctly … You can see on Reginald Charles’ list that number 23 was supposed to contain only two candlesticks. I confirmed it by looking at the packing slip. It didn’t make sense, so I opened the crate…”

  “You opened it? You know that’s not your job!”

  “Jake, will you shut up! She did the right thing under the circumstances! And if you hadn’t left her alone to do this by herself, someone could have helped her!”

  Jake gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed the tag on the lid of the box. He walked to the packing list still on her desk and checked for the number. They matched. He quickly inspected a few other packing slips – they were identical and marked with other exhibit numbers. He returned to her desk. He tapped the mouse a few times until the computer screen came on. He looked at the spreadsheet.

  “Alright, Rex and I will figure it out, but you know you’re not supposed to be opening any shipments. If anything is missing, you’ll be held responsible.”

  “Fine,” Rachel said biting her lip. She just needed to get out of there. She didn’t want to be around Jake the Snake anymore.

  Rex spoke up for her.

  “It’s not fine! Jake apologize to her! How could she have stolen anything? She’s still here! You think she put it in her pocket or something?”

  Rachel could see Jake was going to react this time. He exploded.

  “Look, you little cocksucker! She had all night to move it out of here! She might have had an accomplice … you know, that’s it,” he said pointing his finger, “she was asking about some guy named Peter when I got here. That who you were expecting?”

  “Aw, you’re crazy! You know that? You’re just plain fucking crazy!” Rex screamed.

  “I’m crazy? Then Rachel, why don’t you just tell us who the hell this Peter is?” Jake said sitting on the side of her desk and waiting.

  Rachel had had enough. As if she’d tell him about Peter. She didn’t know where the temerity she was feeling came from, but she wasn’t going to stand for Jake’s bullying – at least not anymore. She unhooked Rex’s hands from her. She patted them and walked to her desk. She retrieved her purse from the drawer she’d placed it in. She put the strap over her shoulder steadying herself with her hand on the desktop for a moment. She took a deep breath and walked past Jake feeling the violent ache coming from deep
within her groin. The lips of her vagina were chafed. It felt uncomfortable to walk, but it gave her a masochistic pleasure. She walked directly to Rex. She placed her arms around him giving him a gentle hug. It felt good to press her breasts into him. Her nipples felt sore – as if they’d been sucked, kneaded, and pulled. They were tender and she took advantage of the sensation by leaning into him. Rex was shy around women. He tried desperately to back away from her without appearing rude. Rachel could tell he was not sure how to handle this much intimacy. She kept her hold on him making sure her savaged nipples maintained contact. She stared into his big brown eyes that drooped at the corners. They gave a perpetual cute puppy dog look that Rachel found appealing.

  She directed her comment at Rex. As if all her comments from now on would be directed to pleasing him.

  “Peter is just some guy I used to know. And, Rex, thank you.”

  She grabbed Rex’s hand and gave it a squeeze before she turned and left, leaving all the problems of Fairfield Museum for Jake to sort out on his own.

  CHAPTER 10

  Reginald Charles was about to dial the number when he heard the soft buzz. He picked-up the receiver and listened to the voice of his trusted secretary tell him she had Sy Feldman of Blanding Art Movers on the telephone.

  “Remarkable, Cheryl! I was just about to call him.”

  Cheryl Cooke had been with him from the beginning. She knew everything he did – almost everything. There were certain things – all pertaining to Arthur Perry – that he hadn’t repeated to anyone. Loose lips sink ships. No sense taking chances.

  “Mr. Charles?”

  Reginald relaxed a bit when he heard Sy’s familiar voice.

  “Yes, put mind reading or clairvoyance on your list of skills.” There was a long pause as Sy struggled to figure out the riddle.

  “I meant that I was about to give you a call about a matter that just came to my attention.”

  “Oh, oh, really, sir? Well, go right ahead with your question then.”

  “No, you first,” Reginald said leafing through his notes. He didn’t like it when things went wrong with shipments, but couldn’t complain. This was the first one in recent memory that had to do with Blanding’s. Reginald’s mind wandered back to the beginnings of Arthur’s business. While ostensibly Reginald was Arthur’s barrister, he was much more involved in his business than that. Consequently, he always seemed to get dragged into those earlier transportation tangles. Reginald knew it was because of Arthur’s penchant for using less than reputable art movers. When Reginald had questioned Arthur’s choices, Arthur would only reply that the price was right. To Reginald, it was a non-answer. How could the price be right when shipments were constantly getting lost and sent to the wrong destination? Reginald put it down to the difference between the way Arthur and Reginald did business and stifled the impulse that told him to look a little deeper. It didn’t take long for Arthur to see the light. When a priceless artifact was almost lost, he’d hired Blanding’s and never deviated from their dependable service.

  Reginald looked down at the notes he took during his telephone conversation with Jake Monroe. Jake had been animated and adamant. Reginald found him a thoroughly disagreeable man under even the most pleasant of circumstances, but Miranda thought differently. Reginald swore she had a soft spot for the renegade curator/art director/charlatan or whatever his title was these days. Reginald would have been happy to see him get his comeuppance. That type always did – eventually.

  “Well, sir, I don’t quite know how to say this, so I’ll come straight out with it. Was there anything wrong with the Fairfield shipment? Is that why you were going to call?” Sy asked finally connecting the dots.

  “Why do you ask?” Reginald heard himself ask instead of the real question which was “How did you know?”

  “I got … we got … a disturbing phone call this morning. It was from the wife of Herb Pinckus. Concerned an item in the shipment to Fairfield Museum – item 23.”

  Reginald reacted when he heard the number. It matched what he had written down. According to Jake, the candlesticks never arrived. They were lost and needed finding. How could a pair of Victorian candlesticks be causing this many problems? They certainly weren’t the most valuable items shipped and Reginald had been prepared to write them off, but perhaps it wasn’t necessary. Maybe Sy could solve the mystery as to where they were.

  “As a matter of fact there was a problem. I just got off the phone with Jake Monroe and he insists that the packing crate for the candlesticks was empty. Any guess as to why? And before you answer, would you mind telling me what possessed you to package them in a crate big enough to hide a body?”

  He heard Sy let out a lengthy expulsion of air that seemed to convey frustration with more than a tinge of confusion.

  “Empty? That’s odd. And it’s an interesting choice of words you used.”

  Reginald could hear Sy take another deep breath before continuing.

  “Well, they weren’t my words, they were Mr. Monroe’s. He’s actually seen the crate.”

  “Well, it’s a long story, Mr. Charles. The only person that really could have answered all these questions is Herbert Pinckus. You must remember him. Believe I introduced you to him myself. He was the unofficial supervisor that day.”

  Reginald did remember. He had seemed a nice enough young man. He had fit in with the type that Blanding’s usually hired.

  “Yes, yes, of course I remember. Very pleasant. Did he leave his employment with Blanding’s? Is that why you said could have given us answers?”

  “Left? In a sense, but I’m afraid he’s left more than his job. He’s dead. Hung himself sometime during the night. His wife found him this morning.”

  Reginald stopped looking over the morning paper and stiffened in his chair. He pushed the pages aside and concentrated on what Sy had to say. He didn’t like it when people took their own lives. He knew the despair that led to that sort of desperate act. He should know. He lived through the pain of it himself when his beloved grandfather ended his life rather than live through the agonizing hell of a prolonged, debilitating, incurable illness. He’d taken his old military-issued pistol and shot himself through the head.

  He leaned back until his head was resting on the cushion top. He tried to remember more details of his meeting Herb Pinckus. He’d seemed such a cheerful young man. Reginald hadn’t detected a smidgen of grief on his jovial face. He’d taken an instant liking to him. He idly wondered what could have possessed someone with such a genial, good-natured disposition to make such a rash decision. He reasoned that no one really knows what lurks beneath the surface.

  “I am sorry to hear that, Sy.”

  “Yes, sir, we all are. It’s rather a twisted tale, but I’m just glad I didn’t stand in his way of getting the job at Blanding’s. I would have never forgiven myself for being a part of what happened.”

  “But why would you have done that, Sy?”

  “I knew something about his ways before he was hired on at Blanding’s. I objected to them taking him on, but kept my mouth shut about it. I figured everyone deserves a second chance so I figured I’d let him rise and fall on his own merits. And fall he did. Right next to his body was a note – and the pair of your candlesticks that are supposed to be safely in Fairfield.”

  “What? Why on earth would he …? Do you know what the note said?”

  “Yes, I should. It was addressed to me.”

  “You?”

  “I have no idea why. Think it was his way of offering an explanation for dragging me into this, although he must have been drunk when he wrote it for all the sense it made.”

  “Or snapped. Was he under any sort of pressure?”

  “Suppose he was. I know that his wife was in the family way more than a couple of times. Families and obligations do put pressure on a man to grow up, but most men dig in and handle it. He was the type that looked for shortcuts. Probably felt stealing was better than working.”

  “Isn’t th
at being a little harsh, Sy?”

  “Harsh? Not nearly, but then it’s me that he lied to, and looking me right in the eyes when he did. Just to satisfy my curiosity, were there paintings you wanted sent to Fairfield to be restored?”

  “Paintings? Why, no, Sy. Nothing like that.”

  “Well, there you have it. He made all that up to cover his thieving ways. Should’a known you wouldn’t want things sent out in a coffin.”

  “Coffin?”

  “Yes, sir that crate contained a coffin-like box. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. Not the usual shape, but it had the length and width. Saw it myself. In a tunnel … in the basement. Right through this door that was in the room we were working in. That’s why I was surprised when you used that word. Especially if the crate had been empty.”