The Vampire's Grave and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  She stares into my eyes for a moment, as the wind ruffles her hair.

  “Ravenous,” she says finally, and for the first time she actually smiles. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

  Ten

  “I want to thank you,” Madeleine says as we sit at a table in the restaurant. “I want to thank you so much, and I want to apologize too. I've been so utterly, incredibly rude.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that it's fine, that she doesn't need to say anything, but I guess that's not entirely true. Without really knowing why, I seem to have done a great deal for this girl and I know next to nothing about her.

  “It's fine,” I reply. “Don't worry about it.”

  “It's not fine,” she continues. “I was very rude, and you've been so kind, and I should make it up to you.”

  “You don't -”

  “Let me buy dinner,” she adds.

  “It's -”

  “How much will it be?” Setting her bag on the table, she unzips the top and pulls out the largest bundle of cash I've ever seen in my life. “What currency do they take here, anyway?”

  Shocked, I watch as she starts rifling through a collection of different notes. She has euros, sterling, krone, US dollars and other types of money I can't even identify. And she has a lot of it, clearly many thousands and thousands of pounds' worth.

  “Maybe you shouldn't sort through that here,” I tell her, glancing at the next table and seeing that she's attracting attention from other diners. “Madeleine? Maybe you should do that back in your cabin.”

  “But I owe you,” she replies, slipping out a five hundred euro note. “How much is this worth?” she asks. “How much have you spent on me?”

  “That really isn't a problem,” I continue, hoping against hope that she'll put the money away. “Please, can you do that later? You don't owe me a penny, and you're kind of making me nervous.”

  She glances at me, clearly surprised, before slipping the money back into her bag.

  “Sorry,” she says with a faint smile. “Sometimes I don't...” She pauses. “What was your name again? You told me before, but I wasn't quite in the right frame of mind to take it in.”

  “Ben,” I reply, trying not to feel too irked. “And -”

  “I'm Madeleine,” she continues, holding a hand out for me to shake.

  “I know,” I tell her, shaking her hand. “You told me yesterday in Paris, remember?”

  “I've been remembering a lot lately,” she replies. “Sorry, it's kind of a jumble at the moment, I was...” She pauses, and after a moment a frown crosses her brow. “I was hurt,” she adds finally. “I don't know how I ended up in Hamburg, but I was really badly hurt. It's a miracle I made it out.”

  I wait for her to continue, but she seems lost I thought.

  “Made it out of where?” I ask. “Who hurt you?”

  She glances at me, before shaking her head. “It doesn't matter.”

  “If someone hurt you,” I continue, as she rolls up one of her sleeves, “you should go to the -”

  I stop as I see that she has bruises all along her arm. Blotchy with blue, green and yellow patches, the bruises look nasty and recent, and I can't help noticing that they seem to be very similar to the patterns I saw in my dream last night when she was naked and on top of me. Still, I know it was just a dream, so I force myself to keep my thoughts on more polite subjects. Which isn't easy.

  “So,” I say with a smile, “do you prefer -”

  “What are you doing?” she asks, interrupting me.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Why are you here?” she continues. “You're running from something. What is it?”

  “I'm running from something?”

  She nods.

  I pause for a moment. “I'm just going to -”

  “Someone died,” she adds, interrupting me again. “You lost someone, someone who's close to you. And then you ended up on a bus in Germany, heading to Paris all alone, and for some reason you started paying for some random girl to tag along with you. Call me crazy, but that doesn't seem like normal behavior.”

  I open my mouth to tell her she's completely wrong.

  “How did she die?” she asks.

  “She -”

  I pause, and for a moment I find myself thinking back to the day I pulled Sonja's bloodied corpse from the bath.

  “You have nightmares,” she continues. “You must. It's only human. I bet last night was the first time in months you haven't seen her in your dreams.”

  “Last night?”

  A faint smile crosses her lips, but it fades quickly.

  “I would have been okay, you know” she continues. “In Hamburg, I mean. If I'd been forced off that coach, I'd have been able to take care of myself, even if I was still hurt.”

  “You still didn't answer the question I asked earlier,” I reply. “You're covered in bruises all over. Who hurt you?”

  “Bruises are nothing. They heal easily.”

  “But -”

  “At least I don't have nightmares about it,” she continues, and that smile is back again, as if she can't quite keep it hidden. “I always enjoy my dreams a great deal,” she adds, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Sometimes I think they're more real than being awake. I mean, who really gets to say which is reality, and which is just in our minds.”

  As her smile grows, I'm a little relieved to see that her teeth are perfectly normal. In the dream last night, she briefly had a pair of fangs like a vampire.

  “It's a buffet,” I tell her, figuring I should change the subject. “We have to go up with plates to get out food.”

  A few minutes later, as I take my plate to the salad bar, I can't help glancing back and seeing that Madeleine is loading hers with meat. She seems markedly different now that we're on the ferry, as if she's no longer confused or scared. She certainly managed to guess a lot about me, and about what happened with Sonja, and if I didn't know better I'd start to think she somehow understands what happened in my dream last night. Then again, another possibility has occurred to me, one that I really don't want to contemplate.

  What if she's not real?

  Apart from the coach driver in Hamburg, I haven't seen another soul talk to Madeleine or even acknowledge her existence. Putting aside the coach for a moment, I've seen enough B-movie horror flicks to know that sometimes it's possible for someone to hallucinate entire people, and I'm starting to worry that while I think I'm spending time with this girl, in fact I'm simply babbling away to myself. I'd be a little disappointed if my subconscious mind resorted to such an obvious cliché now that I've left Stockholm and my life with Sonja behind, but I guess I have to consider the possibility. Maybe I really did lose my mind in the apartment the other night.

  I have to know for sure.

  “Is that feta?” an elderly man asks, leaning past me with his nose wrinkled. “I don't like feta. It always tastes like socks. Then again, maybe it's my socks that smell like feta.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” I reply.

  He turns to me with a frown, although his expression change to a faint smile quickly enough.

  “Is it about all this salad?” he asks. “If it is, I can't help you. I'm only over here 'cause my wife's watching. The moment her back's turned, I'm loading up with ribs.”

  “Do you see that girl over there?” I continue, turning to look at Madeleine as she makes her way around the other side of the serving station with all the meat. “The girl wearing a dark shirt and jeans?”

  “The pretty little thing with... What's that, two entire steaks on her plate?”

  “Do you see her?”

  “Of course I see her,” he replies. “Why? What's wrong? Are you think of asking her to dance later?”

  I feel a faint shudder of relief as I realize that whatever else is going on here, at least Madeleine isn't a figment of my imagination.

  “Nothing's wrong,” I mutter, starting to feel a little foolish. “I just... I was just wondering something, t
hat's all.”

  “Is she yours?” he asks.

  “Mine?” Shocked by the question, it takes me a moment to realize what she means. “Oh, no, I just... I only met her yesterday, and I was wondering...” I pause, trying to think of an explanation for my strange question. “Never mind,” I continue, “it's a long story. I'm sorry for disturbing you.”

  Making my way around to the other side of the salad bar, I'm surprised when Madeleine wanders over with two steaks and a side of ribs on her plate.

  “Enough meat?” I ask.

  “What were you asking that man about?” she asks, clearly amused by something. “Was it about me?”

  “Of course not,” I reply. “I was just making conversation.”

  “Huh.” She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but she simply turns and heads back over to our table, leaving me feeling a little nonplussed.

  “You want to get that tied down,” the elderly man says a moment later as he comes closer. “Nice little thing like that, you'll soon have competition. There'll be plenty of other guys after her.”

  “I know,” I mutter, feeling a faint shudder as I watch Madeleine taking a seat. “I think there already are.”

  Eleven

  “Careful!”

  As the ferry shudders slightly, I stumble against the wall and have to steady myself for a moment. Maybe I shouldn't have had that third beer, especially after staying mostly dry for the past six months, but Madeleine and I are almost back at our cabins. As she grabs my arm to help me along the corridor, I can tell she's slightly amused by my light drunkenness.

  “You need to get some sleep,” she tells me. “We get to Ireland pretty early, just after 9am.”

  “I'm fine,” I reply, taking the key-card from my pocket as I reach my door. I'm not sure whether it's the boat or my head, but everything seems to be swaying around me and it takes a moment before I manage to get the card into its slot. A green light blinks and I push the door open, and I feel a little disappointed as soon as I see my little cabin.

  “Thank you for a fun evening,” Madeleine says. “It's been quite a while since I got to watch a man get drunk.”

  “I'm not drunk,” I reply, turning to her, “I'm just... tipsy. And you should have let me get you a drink or two.”

  “I don't like alcohol,” she explains, taking her key-card from her pocket. She glances over her shoulder, looking along the empty corridor as if she still thinks that someone might be after her. “I prefer to keep my head clear,” she continues, turning back to me. “You really need to -”

  Suddenly she looks up at the low ceiling, as if she's startled.

  “What?” I ask after a moment.

  I wait for a reply, but she seems distracted and the fear has returned to her eyes.

  “I know I got us separate cabins,” I continue, “but that was just me being... careful. We can share a cabin if you like. I mean, we shared a hotel room last night and everything was okay, neither of us woke up with our head missing or...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that once again she doesn't even seem to know that I'm here. Instead, she's still staring at the ceiling, although she seems to be looking at a different spot.

  “So,” I add, “there's no pressure, but -”

  “I think we should both get some sleep,” she says suddenly, grabbing my arm and leading me into my cabin before pushing me back gently until I slump down onto my bed. “Thank you for everything, Ben. I mean that. I would have been fine alone in Hamburg, but...” She stares at me for a moment, before leaning closer and briefly kissing me on the forehead. Then she steps back. “You've restored my faith in humanity,” she explains. “I'm very glad I happened to bump into you when I returned to the... Well, you know.”

  She pauses, and then she heads to the door.

  “Was that goodbye?” I ask, feeling a little woozy. “That sound like goodbye.”

  I wait, but she pulls the door shut as she leaves and I'm left sitting completely alone. Stumbling to my feet, I almost fall flat on my face, and instead of going to the door I end up leaning against the opposite wall, looking out at the dark sea.

  “I'm fine,” I continue, heading back to the bed and settling down flat on my back. I swear this boat is swaying more than ever, although I should probably admit that I might be just a little drunk. “I'll stay right here. I'm okay.” My eyes slip shut, but I'm merely resting them. I'm not going to sleep just yet. “Goodnight, Madeleine,” I whisper. “Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs...”

  ***

  Opening my eyes suddenly, I realize I've been fast asleep. The lights of my cabin are still on, and when I sit up on the bed I feel a faint, thudding pain in the back of my head. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 3am, which means it must be a little over three hours since Madeleine brought me back from the bar.

  “Great,” I mutter, staggering to my feet and grabbing the bottle of water from the table, only to find that it's empty. “Double great.”

  Figuring that I need to drink so that I don't end up with a hangover in the morning, I head to the door and pull it open. There are vending machines on some of the upper decks, so I guess I'll grab something and then come back to my room. As I pull my door shut, however, I glance along toward Madeleine's room and see to my surprise that her door is hanging wide open.

  “Madeleine?” I say cautiously, heading over and peering into her cabin, only to see her unmade bed. I step inside and double-check that there's no sign of her, and then I make my way back out into the corridor.

  A few minutes later, having made my way up the stairs, I find myself all alone in the seating area directly outside the bar. Both the bar and the restaurant are closed by now, as is the information desk nearby, but I head to the vending machine and get a bottle of water, before taking one more for Madeleine. Once I'm done, I turn and head back toward the stairs, but then I stop and look along the corridor that leads to the shops and entertainment area.

  We're on a ferry in the middle of nowhere, halfway between France and Ireland.

  There aren't exactly many places Madeleine could have gone.

  Figuring that I probably wouldn't sleep too well anyway right now, I make my way along the corridor, hoping to spot some sign of Madeleine on one of the seats. When I don't find her, I head around to the other seating area, but she's still nowhere to be found. I take a look at the other restaurant, and than at the embarkation area, but once again I don't see her at all. Finally, once I've checked every possible area except the bathrooms, I find myself back in the first seating area. There's nowhere else she could be, unless...

  Looking over at the door that leads out onto the deck, I see a few spots of rain falling against the glass.

  There's no way she'd be out there, it'd be madness to go out in the middle of the night. At the same time, I think maybe Madeleine isn't the kind of person who can really be judged according to conventional ideas of what's sane and what's not, so I wander over to the door and pull it open, before leaning out and looking along the deck. Sure enough, just as expected, I'm immediately buffeted by wind and rain, and there's no sign of anyone at all. I want to believe that even Madeleine wouldn't be outside in the middle of the night, but...

  Stepping out, I let the door swing shut as I make my way toward the rear of the boat. I have to keep hold of the railing, and the deck is a little slippery, but when I reach the aft section I see lots of empty seats but no sign of Madeleine.

  And then I hear a splashing sound nearby, as if something heavy just fell into the water from the other side of the ferry. Before I can react, I hear another splash just a couple of seconds later, and then silence again.

  “Madeleine?” I whisper, making my way across the deck until I reach the walkway that runs along the ferry's port side. There's no sign of anyone out here now, but those two splashes were definitely not a figment of my slightly-drunk imagination, so I stumble along the damp deck, worried that she might have -

  Suddenly I stop as I see a figure up ahe
ad, sitting on the ground with its back against the railing. I pause for a moment, before making my way closer, and sure enough it's Madeleine.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, as the wind picks up and the rain becomes a little stronger. “Madeleine, are -”

  She looks up at me, her dark eyes filled with shock, and there are fresh cuts all over her face. Not only cuts, but blood-smears as well.

  Twelve

  “What the hell happened to you?” I ask yet again as I support Madeleine's weight, helping her into her cabin.

  Flicking the switch on the wall, I take her over to the bed. The light flickers to life above us as I ease her down, but now I can see her properly it's clear that she's more badly hurt than I'd initially realized. She looks like she's taken a real beating, and I can't help thinking that some kind of maniac must have assaulted her out there on the deck.

  “I'm going to get a doctor,” I tell her.

  I turn, but she quickly grabs my arm to hold me back.

  “Wait,” she gasps, and once again her voice seems harsh and damaged. “Just... wait...”

  I want to pull away, but she's holding me too tight. No matter how hard I try, I'm unable to wriggle loose.

  “You're bleeding,” I point out. “You look like you've been beaten to a pulp. Your lip's split, your left eye's bloodied, your -”

  “I'm fine,” she stammers, before wincing as she tries – and fails – to sit up. Lowering herself back down against the bed, she reaches toward the table. “Give me that cup.”

  Spotting a plastic cup, I grab it and hand it to her, only for her to immediately spit out a thick wad of blood. A dribble of saliva follows, and she hesitates for a moment before pulling back.

  “Thanks,” she groans. “You can... You can go now, I'm...”

  Suddenly she slumps back against the bed, breathing sharp, shallow gulps that seem to cause her a great deal of pain.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I ask, still trying not to panic.