Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “It means only one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I’ve officially lost it.”

  A mirthful titter started in her throat and before long both girls collapsed against each other in a full-blown fit of laughter. They both knew it was to relieve tension and let themselves go. They did just that. It felt so good to let go after a thoroughly wretched night that was only going to get worse.

  “Tiff, I don’t know what I’d do without you, my little girly-girl. You make everything better. The good times and … the times like these colloquially known as the pits.”

  “Aw, chickie! You’re my sister! Of course, I’m gonna love you no matter what. Now let’s get some sleep. Something tells me we’re going to need clear heads tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that … and a wooden stake,” Miranda muttered to herself.

  CHAPTER 34

  Black eyes followed Miranda. She was surrounded by blackness. She walked unsteadily – her arms in front of her feeling for objects of obstruction that would hamper her search. What she was searching for she didn’t know, but she had to keep walking and find it. Down the long corridor she went – a wooden stake clutched in one hand. Its tip had been filed into a sharp point that would penetrate skin as easily as a knife.

  She had no idea where she was or what she pursued, but she had to keep going –further into the darkness to complete a mission. Someone was going to die. She accepted it might be her.

  She opened a series of doors on either side of the corridor. The rooms were empty – devoid of what she sought. Her resolve waned, her feet unsteady on the stone beneath her. This would test her. It would take all she had to complete her task, but she had no choice. It was either victory or …

  The hall had seemed limitless, but she came to its end. A door was before her. Her senses told her it was the one she sought. She inhaled deeply as she approached – the old slab of wood a barrier between her and her tormentor.

  The door creaked – moaning its displeasure at being disturbed. Dust rose up blanketing her face and invading her airway. She couldn’t cough, or it would know she was here. It couldn’t be woken from its sleep as it was nearly sundown, a dangerous time to be seeking out the unholy.

  It was in the corner. Resting on lengths of wood. Raised off the ground although it more properly belonged beneath it. A coffin. An old pine box. The kind of coffin fit for a pauper’s grave. She had to kill what was in it.

  She clenched her weapon more tightly as she made her way towards it. The shafts of daylight that had filtered through a distant window allowing her feeble sight were squelched by the invisible henchmen of the night. Day was dying – being quickly followed by the rich blackness of twilight. In a few scant moments, ink blotted out the world and stained the sky. She shuffled toward the encasement, silently reciting the Lord’s prayer just one more time. Would God protect her in her hour of need? Time would tell. She feared not.

  She was close enough to touch it. It took everything she had not to turn away and flee. The revulsion was enormous. A thousand times worse than being encircled by rats. A hundred times worse than being trapped in a snake’s pit. It was a claustrophobic type of fear – a terror that travels to the very marrow of bones. Her body shook, but her hand moved to the lid despite every fiber in her telling her not to.

  Her fingertips were so close – about to make contact when it swung open. She was too late! Night had rousted it from its slumber. She brought the stake up – ready to drive it into its chest. To impale it in its filthy grave.

  The creature sat up. Its hideous face inches from hers. The black eyes that haunted her – the ones that silently watched were set in this demon’s face. She felt the spray of saliva cover her skin. She closed her eyes in a protective move. The blink was a respite from gazing into the ferocity of its expression. A reprieve from seeing the long incisors glinting and dripping with anticipatory pleasure. A lull from what was to be done – and the inevitability of it all.

  A vampire was before her. A vampire that would tear her to shreds if she didn’t kill it first. The hand holding the stake went limp – not in fear, but in recognition. She knew the full extent of brutality that would be unleashed – all because of her inability to wield a death blow. Her familiarity and affection for the undead would be her undoing – she would not leave the room alive even though she had a chance if she went against everything she believed. She had no choice for there was no way she could bring herself to kill what sat before her. Frozen, she stood looking into the face of the creature that was part of the army of the undead. It wasn’t Peter – it was her father – Arthur Perry.

  Miranda screamed jolting awake from the disturbing nightmare. She looked about Tiffany’s guest bedroom making sure it had been a dream. The quiet yellow paint and sleek teak furniture assured her she was safe.

  She staggered out of bed looking fleetingly at the clock. It was only 9:20 AM. She sat on the edge of the bed gripping her head. What had caused that dream? It was so vivid – so alive – as if it were actually happening. Her dreams were growing in intensity and scope.

  She did her best to shake it off. It was a horrible dream and nothing more. Even a platoon of the undead wouldn’t be able to get up to the penthouse without a key. The dream dissolved from her thoughts as she remembered what had occurred the night before. She groaned when she realized the horror of last night was real. There was no shaking that off.

  She’d turned her cell phone off. She plucked it off the dresser. She had enjoyed the few minutes of ignorant bliss – just a few seconds spent dwelling on whether anyone knew about what had transpired in that private room. She turned it on – it lit up like a Christmas tree. Evidently, what happens in New York, doesn’t stay in New York since she had hundreds of messages from friends and people that wanted to become friends. Then there were the texts from the tabloids expressing sympathy and generously offering her the opportunity to tell her side of the story.

  How the hell did these people get her private number? That’s what she wanted to know. She began deleting a batch, seeing Reggie’s number in the mix. She listened to the voicemail not quite sure she wanted to hear his message. It was stern and to the point – urging her to call him as soon as possible. She realized she didn’t know which subject was worse for a conversation. Was it talking about her naked body being ravaged on film? Or speculation that vampires were after her and her family?

  She decided they were an even match. Miranda didn’t want to talk about either, but then she had to, didn’t she? She’d made her bed, now she’d have to lie in it. She’d always abhorred that phrase so much – and now she was cursed to live it.

  She went in the bathroom and brushed out her hair. She looked approximately how she felt – sick to her stomach and ready to puke. She’d never seen a green tinge to her skin before – it was remarkably unbecoming.

  She tiptoed down the hallway careful not to disturb Tiffany. It was bad enough she was using her as a security blanket and safe harbor. The least she could do was respect her routine and not wake her up. She was satisfied that the scream she let out upon arising hadn’t. She was grateful for that at least. All she needed was to explain why she was shrieking out in terror.

  She started the coffee perking and debated about calling Reggie before she’d laced her weak English blood with Columbian coffee beans. She opted to sit still and ponder her next move. She’d made enough rash decisions.

  Her phone rang in her hand. She looked down and saw it was her brother. She knew it wasn’t his style to call her – unless it was a chance to rake her over the coals. She didn’t know if she wanted more bashing. Against her better judgment she answered it.

  “Good morning, dear brother, just calling to say hello?”

  “Yup, that was it. How’d you guess?”

  “Used the law of probability. I mean the other fifty million people did, so why not you?”

  “Fifty million? I think my friends are a small part of your throng of admirers �
� the males anyway. I didn’t watch it myself, but I hear you grew up just fine,” he said with more than a trace of a chuckle.

  “Not even a peek? I’m surprised since you’ve been actively engaged in such lecherous physical pursuits yourself – at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Peek? What do you take me for? A perv? And the young ladies I consort with are of age, consenting, and not relatives. I think that should ease your mind.”

  “It does not.”

  “Might I ask if Goldilocks is a relative? With all that fine, blonde hair hanging down in his face it was hard to tell.”

  “So you did peek, you little pipsqueak!” she chastised.

  “Not at you, sis – at him. Honestly, he looks like he stepped off the cover of one of your romance novels. How long did it take him to grow that mane?”

  “No time at all. He’s completely bald,” Miranda lied. She felt good starting this fallacious rumor and talking badly about the man in the world she most hated.

  “Really? Then that hair is not his?”

  “No, only a very bad weave on a circular fringe of the most sparse hair imaginable. Looks like a cue ball on top.”

  “Gosh, that is disturbing. I wonder how many Palomino horses had to die just so he could play Marquis de Sade? He certainly had the spanking down – and no, I didn’t look. It’s what I heard from my very randy friends who – I might add – are most anxious to meet you.”

  “You are quite the joker, Chasie. Remind me to punch you right in the mouth when I see you. Or how about a nice kick to your testicles?”

  “I don’t see why you’re getting mad. I was only inquiring since I thought you were so straight-laced in your, er, preferences. I don’t even go in for that sort of thing and I was the one that actually got my bottom swatted by father. Perhaps a case of bottom swatting envy?”

  “Unlikely. More a case of I got curious with the wrong person because my brain fell out into the toilet. My God, Chase, I feel like such a fool.”

  “Aw, Randi girl, it’ll all blow over in a few hundred years. And most of the people doing the most talking are the biggest carousers imaginable. They have no business talking about anyone. Hypocrites at best.”

  “Yes, but they didn’t get filmed and have their video splashed all over the internet. It is all over the internet isn’t it? That is where you saw it?”

  “Psychic as well as beautiful! That’s the saving grace. If you had looked all flabby and out of shape, it would have been depressing and a real tragedy.”

  “Yes, thank God for that!” she answered sarcastically.

  “I’m glad you’re coming around. I just called to offer my support and tell you that you never looked more beautiful – and that’s through my friend’s vantage point.”

  “And that’s all? Not to rub it in?”

  “Nope! Not the type to gloat about another’s misadventures. Especially not my brilliant baby sister. Just say the word and I’ll have a hit put out on this guy. Mind telling me his name or should I just say Palomino Boy must die?”

  Miranda giggled in spite of the situation.

  “And here I was debating about whether taking this call was a good idea! You have quite lifted my spirits, my wonderful Chasie. As for taking out a contract, it wouldn’t do any good. Can’t kill the undead now can you?”

  “Undead? As in vampire? Why did you say that?”

  “Why? Have something against movies? Ones involving vampires are all the rage or haven’t you heard?”

  “No, it’s not that. I enjoy a good horror flick … it’s just …”

  Chase’s whole tone changed. It had gone from a light-hearted sibling type of teasing to a downright funeral-style solemnity. Miranda immediately regretted bringing the subject up.

  “Just what Chase? Oh, I am stupid for bringing this subject up.”

  “Why did you? It’s just odd.”

  “Odd in what way?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke.

  “I wasn’t going to bring it up at all. It’s just such a depressing subject and they’re just dreams. Dreams are not real.”

  Miranda heard the furious perking of the coffee coming to the end of being brewed. It approximated the rhythm of her heart.

  “Dreams? Have you had dreams about vampires?”

  “As a matter of fact I have. It’s what was bothering me the other day. You know, when you accused me of being hammered. Really, Randi girl, I haven’t been drinking … well, not that much anyway. I feel quite insane mentioning it, but it’s true.”

  “As insane as being spanked on the internet?”

  She heard her brother laugh in spite of himself.

  “You do have a good English dry wit about you. Can’t take that away although you sure can your panties.”

  “I will wring your neck for that one. Now the dream please? What was it?”

  “I don’t remember all of it. It was vague. I think I was here. Sitting in the dark being watched. Although I couldn’t see by who, I knew it was a vampire. You know how dreams are, Miranda – how you can tell things without seeing them. It was quite terrifying. I was almost paralyzed with fear. I just sat not being able to move knowing that a vampire was in my room about to bite me. I mean it’s total rubbish and I don’t even know where the notion came from. I haven’t watched any horror at the cinema in quite awhile.”

  Miranda felt a catch in her throat. A scratching like someone was clawing and climbing their way up.

  “Really? Did anything else happen? Do you remember? And when did they start?”

  “Hmm, a few nights ago I think. As for what happened, just more garbled nonsense. I was walking in some dark place. Then a horrible face came out of nowhere. It was vague, but I did see these black eyes. Then a mouth opened up, showing two incredibly long teeth. The thing hissed at me, and attacked. I backed up to avert being bitten – and then just started falling.”

  “Falling?”

  “Yes, you know dreams where you fall and fall. Like that. Now what, Sigmund? Think it was the intuitive vision that my baby sister was going to get a spanking filmed that caused them?”

  Miranda would have loved to be more forthcoming in what she thought on this subject, but held back.

  “No, I think it was because you don’t include spanking in your sexual repertoire. You really ought to loosen up. Then mother can be thrilled to have both of us on the web doing the nasty. Two children she can be proud of instead of just the one that has pablum for brains.”

  “Randi girl, don’t be hard on yourself. He was a sleazeball for doing this. I assume you lawyered up?”

  “Yes, I called Reggie last night. I was going to call him back after some caffeine.”

  “Good idea. And remember we all make mistakes, sis. None of us is perfect.”

  As Chase said goodbye, she whispered, “Not even father.”

  She put the phone down berating herself for not telling him about her dreams, but then what good would it do? It was a coincidence at best. Besides, that scoundrel Reginald probably called him and told him about the bloodsuckers out to wreak revenge upon the naughty Perrys. That was probably it. Just Reginald passing on those ridiculous fairy tales told by Pinckus and Figgs. She hoped that in the telling, he’d ended up scaring himself. It would be beautifully karmic.

  She refused to contemplate this subject. The whole thing was just ridiculous. There were more pressing matters – like Peter being an asshole. And her giving into him. It was exactly what Tiffany had tried to warn her about. Of course, she hadn’t listened, but then when did she ever listen to anyone? She hated herself for being so conceited as to think she knew better than anyone else. It was an offshoot of playing boss. She was used to making decisions, but decisions about the artworld and museums did not equate with knowing everything. She would learn to defer. A little at a time. She would start with men. She would pass any new prospective suitors by Tiffany for her take on them. She would go with Tiffany’s opinion from now
on and not her own.

  Miranda poured herself some coffee and had several good swallows before calling Reggie. It was late, but somehow she had the feeling he’d be up. She almost wished he weren’t since by any stretch of the imagination, she was not looking forward to this conversation. She punched in the quick dial and wondered if her mother knew.

  “Oh, dear, God, please no!” she pleaded.

  “Miranda, well, you’ve done it this time!” Reggie barked in ill-humor. It sounded like he had steam coming out of his ears.

  “Mea culpa,” she meekly replied. Now was not the time to brazenly wiggle off the hook with lame excuses. She’d take it on the chin.

  “At least you have the good grace not to deny it!”

  “Is it bad? Have we any chance getting it removed?”