To the right of them, he saw the old man talking to a younger man dressed in bathing trunks. There was something about this man that gave Alan the willies. He was handsome and fit, very tall and broad in the shoulders, but there was an unmovable cruel expression on his face that could make you go jelly-kneed. Alan couldn't make out what the two of them were saying.
He looked around and found a thick stand of cypress near the corner of the house, close to the window, and stepped behind them. He was just in time. The door opened again and the old man stepped out. He heard the younger man call to his back, "Are you sure you won't have a taste of my lovelies before you go? When was the last time you had a warm meal?"
Taste of his lovelies? The girls inside? Taste them, as one would a . . . a . . . meal?
Alan cringed, knowing without doubt that the man meant exactly what he said. He wasn't talking about tasting them sexually or he wouldn't have added the stuff about a meal. Jesus, were they cannibals? This was too bizarre for words.
The old man made some reply, then stalked off into the night, back down the road toward Dallas. Alan watched him go and heard the younger man close the door. He stood up, watching and waiting. As he tried to decide when he could leave his cover and follow, he saw the old man disappear into the night. Alan stepped out from behind the cypress trees and took a step forward. He stopped, staring hard at where the old man had been walking, sure he had made a mistake. It was a trick of the night, the lack of light along the highway, the utter isolation of this place. It was because he was tired and felt dumb for playing at detective work. Surely a person could not just vanish.
He began to walk toward the highway, searching everywhere, hoping for a glimpse of the old man. Maybe he had suffered a spell or seizure and fallen down so quickly Alan hadn't seen it happen.
When he neared the spot where he had last seen the man, he looked around on the pavement, in the ditch, even over the fence and into the pastures. The old man had simply vanished, all right. He was nowhere. There were no hills, no obstructions, no place where he could have hidden himself. He was just gone.
Just then Alan heard screams from the house and he turned, hunching his shoulders. He hurried back to the cypress trees near the window. The man inside had drawn the curtains, but Alan could see through a slit into the lighted interior.
The screams were from the women he'd seen on the sofa, and they were unending. The screams rose from the house and into the night like sirens at full blast. Peering through the slit, Alan saw what was occurring, but his mind could not comprehend the scene. He fell back, putting both hands over his eyes, his lips tight and teeth gritted. He lowered his hands to look again.
The man had straddled one of the women, bending her back over an ottoman. He held her arms down with one hand and her head down with the other. She was screaming piteously. The man had torn flesh from her throat with his teeth. A gout of blood gushed from the wound, covering the ottoman and the tiled floor. The man chewed the flesh as one would a mouthful of steak.
The other woman seemed to have come out of the trance she had been in and was standing, screaming, beating at the mart's back with her fists to try to stop him.
As Alan watched, sickened and stupefied, the man whipped around, dropping the wounded woman onto the ottoman where she slipped limply and unconsciously to the floor. He grabbed the other woman who had been fighting against him, bent her over his knees, held one arm against her forehead so as to bare her throat, and then he leaned down and bit at her savagely.
She screamed until the scream changed to a strangled gurgling.
Alan turned from the window, stumbled back, and vomited into the grass. His dinner at Landry's Seafood Restaurant came up, all of it, and the beer mixed with it. He retched dryly, stumbling farther and farther from the house and into the darkness. He hurried to the road that would lead him away from the bloody massacre, afraid to look behind him.
Chapter 17
Dell rode Lightning as fast as she dared, crossing a ravine in the darkness, past low hanging limbs that whipped past her face, around and through stands of cottonwoods and pine and soaring oaks. Something had entered her, and she was trying to get it out again. It was the memory of the dark wood where the moon shone blood red and the giant Predator, king of them all, swooped down toward her from out of the crimson sky like a monstrous prehistoric dinosaur with wings.
It felt as if The Maker was here again, coming for her in the night as she rode the horse. She raced from him, flying as fast as she could, as fast as the horse could be made to run. "Go, Lightning!" she yelled, swatting at his flanks with her reins, leaning forward so that she was as close to him as possible. Branches pummeled her back and whipped across her lowered head.
"Hurry, Lightning, hurry!"
The remembered dream that was now so real had come on her in a flash. She'd just been trotting along in the darkness, thinking about Ryan and Lori at the Loden party. She thought she had done the right thing showing up and confronting them, but she couldn't seem to get rid of the anger. She knew where it originated. Ryan was with someone else. He should be with her. He had to be with her.
Maybe she should have stayed home and talked it out with Carolyn. Or maybe she could have visited Cheyenne and asked for advice. Instead, she'd come here on her own, and now the memories raged through her unsettled mind.
When she had first saddled Lightning and taken him out along the riding path, it was delicious to know she had slipped away from everyone, taken the car to Loden's party and then to the stables. After leaving the party, spending time alone was what she needed most.
She had never disobeyed her parents before or done anything remotely rebellious. Her conscience gave her a twinge when she thought they might be wondering where she'd gone.
But now that she'd done what she pleased, she realized how much fun it was to feel like a runaway, a brat, an unbridled spirit who had no master. She could say anything to anyone; she could ride in the night like a blithe spirit.
She glanced up once at the moon risen partway into the sky, and saw that it was a full milky orb surrounded with a halo of silver. Without warning the dream came on her, returned to reality. The tremendous fear it had instilled in her very soul when she lay dying returned full force. Suddenly it burned in her mind with clarity and emotion. All thoughts of Ryan and Lori left her. Fear was at her back, lifting a clawed hand to capture her brain.
She had kicked Lightning to send him off on a marathon race, plunging through the thickets and woods as if the very hounds of hell were on their heels.
Now that they were spinning out of control, she didn't want to stop it, wanted, in fact, to run the horse until he could run no more, lose her way without any thought as to how she might get back.
The monster was at her back, and she would outrun him. Together, with the help of her marvelous steed, they would show him that he could not have her, never. Never would he have her!
When they reached a shallow creek running silver in the moonlight, Lightning dashed across it, sending sprays of water to each side. Laughter erupted from Dell and fell around her like diamond droplets, filling her with so much pleasure at her escape that she thought she might burst. Beyond the creek lay an open field where she could push Lightning flat out and no one could catch her. She would ride across it and into another world, ride over the horizon and into oblivion.
Then she saw him appear. Mentor. He stood ahead of her, straight in the path. She hauled back on Lightning's reins, trying to halt him before he ran down her only friend. Lightning was responsive, but not quick enough to avoid a collision. The two of them, girl and horse, ran through Mentor as if he were a ghost.
Dell turned the horse, got him under control, and trotted back to where Mentor waited patiently, none the worse for being run through.
"What's gotten into you?" His voice was stern.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Mentor. I didn't see you in time." She was wet with bloody sweat, her hair hanging in dark damp strands aro
und her face. The horse was breathing heavily, foam dropping in huge globs from his mouth. He lifted his head, hoping to take off again on a run, prancing yet, unable to still himself.
Mentor walked closer and put his hand on the horse's nostrils. Immediately Lightning settled and hung his head as if full of patience now, eager to please the old man.
It was as if Mentor had touched her, too. She could not remember why she had been racing the poor horse and why it was so important to treat him that way. She remembered being upset over Ryan, but she didn't know when that had turned into a nightmare about the giant Predator. She slid off the saddle, holding onto the reins, and stood shakily. It was as if all the bones below her waist had liquefied. She held onto the stirrup to keep from falling on her face.
"I don't know what happened," she said, "I was riding, just riding along slowly, and then . . . I thought . . . Oh, Mentor, what's wrong with me?"
He came to her aid and helped her sit on the ground. He took the reins and patted the horse's neck, calming him further. "You can't do this," he said.
"I know! I didn't mean to. Something came over me and I . . . I . . . got scared."
"You shouldn't have left your house. Your family is worried sick about you. They asked me to find you and bring you home."
She looked up at him guiltily. "I didn't think it would matter. I wanted to be alone with Lightning. He's my . . . my friend."
"I'm your friend, too, Dell. And I'm telling you that you can't go off on a whim. You can't give in to whatever urge strikes you. It's dangerous. It's what Predators do. Dell, do you hear me? You're treading down the wrong path. It could lead to your destruction."
"I'm sorry, Mentor." She wiped sweat from her face and then dried the bloody dampness on her jeans. She was as tired as she'd ever been and wondered if she could even stand up. She was hungry, too, her veins screaming for blood.
What might have happened if Mentor hadn't found her? How far might she have gone; to what lengths might she have driven her animal in order to escape a phantom?
"You could have killed the horse," he answered her thought. "You might have run him until he died."
"No!" She struggled to her feet and reached out for Lightning. She fell against him, her head against his side, and put an arm over his back. "I’d never hurt him."
"Yes, Dell, you would. You were out of your mind. You were vampire only and there was no human left in you. Don't you feel it? Don't you even now want to lash out at me for stopping you? For keeping you away from the thrill of the ride and the slap of the wind against your face?"
She admitted to herself that he was right. There was a tiny part of her that wanted to mount the horse again and whip him into a run so they could cross the pasture as fast as possible. She looked behind her, searching for shadows, feeling a touch of panic again and a fear that someone was watching.
"The dream came to you again," he said. "You had The Maker on your back."
"Yes." She hugged the horse closer and shivered. "What happened, Mentor? What's wrong with me?"
"Get on your horse and let me lead you back to his stall." He helped her into the stirrup and then into the saddle. The horse raised his head, eyeing Mentor as if for direction.
As they walked slowly back into the woods and across the creek, Mentor explained to her the way desires would take hold and, unless she squelched them, would override every human caution and lead her into violent action. It might be riding a horse too hard or it might be finding a weak human and being filled with a craving she could not control. She was a Natural only as long as she disciplined herself and held herself accountable for everything she did. She must not let fleeting thoughts of pleasure lead her toward excess. It ended with blood and death.
He told her of his meeting with Ross, the Predator leader who supplied their blood every week. He told her how Predators engaged in wanton gratification, how they were smart enough not to get themselves in a bind and be caught, but that they took whatever they wanted when they wanted it. It was this tendency to live larger than life that filled them with violence and caused them to attack, even though they might have refrigerators full of blood, chilled and cleaned and neat.
Did she want to be like Ross? Did she want to leave her family behind in their struggle to live decently and without doing harm upon the Earth? Was being a vampire so thrilling that it superseded morality and good judgment?
Properly chastised, Dell told him no, she did not want to live that way. She did not want the life of the real vampire, the deadly intruder in the night, the monster who lived in madness and depravity. She did not want to hurt Lightning or worry her parents. She would never do this again. She promised.
Yet, in the depths of her being, she felt the pinch and the tug of need that prompted her to add, "Mentor, will you help me? What if I'm not strong enough to resist?"
"I'll help you as much as I can," he said, walking ahead and to one side so the horse could follow. "That's why I came here at your family's urging. But in the silence of the night, in the privacy of your room in your home, the real choice is left up to you. I may not always be available to stop you. Now that you know there's a danger, you'll have to be on the lookout for it yourself. In the end, Dell, we are all on our own."
"Even you?"
"Even after all these years and despite whatever wisdom I've been able to glean . . . yes, even me."
Chapter 18
Alan sat alone in his locked car, nausea still rising in his throat and making him sick. What he had witnessed at the isolated ranch house was nothing short of astonishing. It wasn't simply murder. It was brutal and evil, the most contemptible thing he'd ever seen happen to another human being. No one bit out another's throat! Jeffrey Dahmer, maybe, but no one else he had ever heard of. And Dahmer had been some kind of aberrant monster himself.
Upton, with his volumes of lore, was right. There were creatures walking the Earth who should not exist. They killed wantonly, taking life without a thought. And Upton wanted to be like that. He wanted to live forever even if he had to kill over and over again to remain living. What did that say about him, except that he was as corrupt and insane as the monster Alan had seen murdering the two women?
Turning the ignition, Alan looked around at the bare streets under the pools of lamplight and wondered where he could find a phone. He must call the police and report what he'd seen. He wouldn't be able to get involved, so he would have to make the call anonymously.
Ten blocks back into the city he saw a pay phone outside a closed convenience store, pulled in, and, after twice dropping quarters from his shaking hands, managed to dial 911. He told them where the house was located, what was going on inside it, and described the killer, who obviously owned the house.
He hung up abruptly, got into his car, and drove as fast as he could without getting a ticket to Bette's house.
He knocked on the door. When she didn't answer right away, he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He let himself in, calling to her. “Bette?"
He found her still sleeping on the sofa in the living room. She had not moved since he'd checked on her earlier. She had not changed her work clothes. She still wore a white lab jacket over her prim white blouse and dark brown, calf-length skirt. He shook her awake. "Are you all right?"
She blinked at him and sat up groggily. She brushed hair back from her face. "How long have I been sleeping?"
"All evening, I think."
She pulled at the sleeve of her lab coat. "I didn't even take this off. I must not have had dinner . . .”
“Are you sick?"
"No. I'm hungry." She hesitated, bringing a hand to her bosom and laying it flat between her breasts. "I don't think I'm sick. I must have been more tired than I thought."
He sat with her at the little kitchen table while she made herself a cold cut sandwich and poured a glass of milk. "You're sure you don't want something?" she asked.
He raised his hand, tasting the remains of a dinner that had come up again. "No, no, t
hank you. Bette, who was that old man who came here tonight? Was he a friend of yours?"
"What old man?"
Alan felt an alarm go off. "The old man. The one who came here tonight." She still looked confused. "I didn't tell you, but I was outside watching the house. I saw the old man walk down the street here to your house. You let him in. After a little while he came out again. I rushed in here to see if you were all right, and found you sleeping soundly. I left again, following him. I had to know where he was going, who he was."
Bette shook her head as she sat at the table, turning the glass of milk around and around, watching the wet circle it made as water condensed on the outside of the glass. "I . . . I must be sick or something. I remember coming home and putting down my purse and car keys. I think I was very tired. I must have let in someone. I think I remember going to the door when there was a knock, but . . . I'm just . . . having trouble remembering what it was about."
"Never mind. At least he didn't hurt you. Is he someone you know? You have to think, Bette. It's important."
She raised her gaze to meet him. "I guess I know some old men. Friends of my father's from the neighborhood. There's Mr. Chang, who runs the Chinese store. And Mr. Graber, who operates a barber shop."
"Well, this old man has a secret. You need to think about who he was."'
"What do you mean?"
"I followed him from your house, all the way outside of town, to another man's house. I had to walk about two miles, following him when he got out of a bus and started off. He would have seen me in my car. He went to a house way the hell out in the middle of nowhere, outside of Dallas. He met with a younger man in a huge, isolated ranch house. Anyway, when he left the house, I started to follow him again. Then I heard screams."
SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy Page 17