Armani frowned. “What a great idea, Rex. Then I can look like some sort of Erik wannabe.”
“Who the hell is Erik?”
“Are you kidding me? You really don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.” He shook his head. “Erik is the Phantom in ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’ You know the guy with the appearance of death reincarnate and he wears a mask to hide his face from the world. It’s an epic story.”
Rex shook his head. “Oh, ok I know who you’re talking about. You could at least consider a half mask or some sort of cover so you feel comfortable going out of the house.” He offered. “I know someone who can make you one but only if you want to.”
“I’ll think about it. I think I’d rather go out looking like this instead of hiding behind some mask.” He lied, pointing to the left side of his face.
Rex paced from one end of the living room to the next. It was a mess. Trash was scattered around the couch and chair, beer cans laid on the floor and coffee table. The absence of his housekeepers was apparent. “When are your housekeepers coming back to work?” Rex asked. A book on the coffee table caught his eye. He bent over, picked it up and scanned the inside of the cover and back flap. His eyebrows creased a puzzled expression on his face.
“When I call them to come back and work,” he shot back. “They are my employees and I’m paying them, even in their absence.” He dismissed the conversation with a wave of his hand. “What are you reading? I didn’t know I had a book out here,” Armani asked staring at the book in Rex’s hands. “I only read in the library and that’s where the books stay.”
It troubled Rex that Armani had this book in his house. “I didn’t know you were interested in Vampirism.” He tossed the book to Armani.
“I’m not.” Armani gazed at the glossy black cover. A man in a flowing red cape stood in the distance with outstretched arms. A creamy full moon hung in the sky, bare trees lined the street and the head of a large black hawk with red eyes encompassed the cover like a snow-globe. Chills ran down his spine. These images were all too familiar to him. “Did you bring this here as some sort of joke?” He asked his eyes glued to the strange book.
Rex crossed his arms. “No. You know better than that. I’m not into gothic worship of the devil and I don’t believe in vampires, so why would I even waste my time or money on a book like that?” He asked. “Get real, my friend.”
“I’ll have to do some research on Donovan, the author.” Opening the book, Armani frowned. “No last name. That’s odd.”
Armani’s thoughts raced to the previous night when he heard someone walking through his house. It was impossible. There was no evidence that anyone was inside. But, the eerie feeling of not being alone was too real. He studied the cover as if in a trance. The hawk stared back at him. He held the book up and moved it from right to left. The hawk’s red eyes followed staring into his eyes. His hands violently shook and he dropped the book.
“Are you alright?” Rex asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Fear gripped his heart and soul. “I’m fine.” He said, sat down and placed his head in his hands. “I just need to rest before I visit Simone’s grave.”
“I’ll leave you alone, but give some thought to what I said about the band.” Rex patted his friends back. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in touch and please answer your phone.”
“Will do, thanks for stopping.”
Rex opened the front door and saw a hawk sitting on a low tree branch one hundred feet from the house. It extended its wings, flapped them, the sound like leather. “Come here, Armani. The black hawk is back and it’s staring right at me.”
Armani moaned, stood and trudged to the door. “So what, it’s been around here since Simone and I had this house built. What’s the big deal?” Maybe it was a big deal because this was the same hawk in his dreams. A cold chill ran down his spine. The hawk stared at him like a predator eyeing its prey.
Rex gasped. “You know what? That hawk looks like the same one on the cover of that twisted book you have.” He pointed. “I don’t know about you, but that thing gives me the creeps.”
The hawk screamed, flew off the branch and ascended toward the Heavens.
“It’s huge,” Rex said staring at the bird. Horrified, he watched the hawk descend toward them, its eyes blood red. Rex pushed Armani into the house, followed and slammed the door. The hawk flew into the door with a loud thud.
“It was trying to attack us!” Rex screamed. The hawk shrieked, beating on the door with its body and long sharp beak.
“What do we do now?” Armani asked. Goosebumps covered his arms.
Rex ran to the gun case. “We shoot the bastard!” He yelled over his shoulder.
Armani walked to the window and looked at the bird. The hawk stopped beating on the door, cocked its head and stared at Armani.
“It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s staring at me. Not just staring, but searching my soul,” Armani said.
Rex rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Armani. It’s a God damn bird gone crazy or rabid.” Rex didn’t bother hiding his annoyance with Armani. “Help me load this thing.” He tossed the bullets to Armani who missed them sending them crashing to the floor.
“Leave it alone, Rex.” Armani ordered.
The hawk flew out of sight and reappeared carrying a piece of paper in its razor sharp beak. The hawk dropped the note behind a bush. Armani watched the hawk caw, spread its wings and fly away.
Armani was relieved to see the hawk go. He wanted to retrieve the note, but he’d have to wait until Rex left. He reasoned Rex would assume he was delusional.
Rex opened the door, gun cocked. “Where the hell did it go?” He asked, irritated. It was here a minute ago.” He took a few steps and looked at the sky. “Damn. You were supposed to keep your eyes on it.” Rex stormed back into the house and handed the gun to Armani.
Armani’s patience wore thin. “Oh well, it’s gone. Who cares? Now, if you’ll excuse me, Rex, I have things to do.” He covered his face with his palm, marched to the stairs and stopped. “Thanks for coming over. See you around.” He took the stairs two at a time without a backward glance.
“Yeah, see you later, buddy.” Rex hollered, walked outside and slammed the door.
Armani looked out the bedroom window and watched Rex leave. He needed to go to the funeral home and have a proper tombstone made for Simone.
He yanked open his drawer and pulled out a black sweater and a pair of jeans. But, there was something he had to do before taking a shower. He slowly walked down the steps.
His heart pounded with every step closer to the front door. He opened the door and looked from left to right and stepped outside. There it was. A simple piece of paper folded into four parts.
Armani reached for the paper. “Ouch!” He flinched. A branch scraped his arm. He grabbed the note, held it tight and dodged into the house.
Armani locked the door and stared at the piece of paper he held with shaking hands. No address or name on the front or back. He unfolded the note and the color drained from his face. It was signed ‘Donovan.’ How could that be? That was the author of the mysterious book on Vampirism Rex found. He had never heard of anyone named Donovan or cared about Vampirism. Armani walked to the living room and sat on the couch. He leaned over and shuffled trash and cans around until he found the book. “Shit.” The hawk looked identical to the one he saw and had been seeing since he met Simone.
Nothing prepared him for what Donovan had written. His heart rate sped up, sweat beaded on his forehead and his blood ran cold. Armani read and re-read the note several times before setting it aside. He laid back and stared into space, unable to move.
Chapter Eight
The highway into downtown Grand Rapids was backed up for miles. Cars were at a stand still. Angry people yelled obscenities out their windows and honked their horns.
“Damn!” Gabe muttered, his face turning red. He was running late for his morning appointment with
a prospective band, which appeared to be promising for him to represent. Gabe rolled the window down and drummed his fingers on the door of his sporty silver Lexus.
Gabe was the most popular and successful agent for musicians, mostly consisting of cutting edge rock bands. The famous ‘Faded Cross,’ with lead singer, Armani Belvedere, was his top moneymaker and they were in high demand. Not only for their musical talent and ability to put on a great show, but since the tragic accident which left Armani scarred physically and his fiancée deceased. If he made money on each call he received about Armani, he’d be a billionaire.
Armani was in demand for radio interviews, photo shoots, live TV interviews, and club appearances. But, when he contacted him about doing some of these Armani’s always answered with a resounding ‘no.’ Gabe didn’t blame him, neither. It was sad how the media seemed to delight in tragedy, only to help their ratings go up. Curious people would watch the interviews to look at his face, whether they cared about Armani or not. The story was all over the media. Some true and some false. Guilt washed over Gabe like a waterfall. He was partly to blame for the tragedy and whenever he talked to Armani by phone, it was like talking to a hollow shell. Armani’s passion and zest for life was gone.
“Aw, come on,” Gabe hollered. “This is ridiculous.”
He shifted the rear view mirror and looked at his reflection. He smiled when he saw his shaved bald head shining like the moon at twilight. Gabe was short with large brown eyes and wore glasses that made him look like a professor at a university. He always wore three piece suits and polished black or brown shoes.
Success was his mission since college and that’s what his life was. He was greedy, which lead to his growing frustration with Armani. He would get a percentage from all Armani’s appearances, but he knew getting Armani to do anything he didn’t want to do was like bleeding a turnip. Time was the only thing he could give his star lead singer.
Traffic picked up. He lit a cigarette and focused on the road. His phone was ringing. ‘Murphy’s Law,’ he thought. It didn’t ring while sitting idle in traffic.
“Hello, Gabe speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Davis. This is Carl Casper from Dateline. How are you today?”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “I’m doing well. What can I help you with?”
“I was calling in regards to your client, Armani Belvedere, lead singer of ‘Faded Cross.’”
“You and every other News network out there. I say yes, but unfortunately my client, Armani says no.”
“Sir,” Carl sighed. “I wondered if he would appear on our show in one week. We want his side of the story and burn the rumor mill to the ground, no pun intended.” He cleared his throat. “We want to set the record straight for the public who are hearing horrible things about the accident. As his manager, you should want the best for him.”
Gabe waved to a pretty blonde in a Mercedes convertible next to him.
“The answer is still no. I’m sorry, but Armani wants his privacy at this time and that’s all I can say.” Gabe was growing irritated.
Carl coughed. “This may change his mind. The network which airs our show is willing to pay him three million dollars for a one hour interview. The contract is written and ready for both your signatures.” He finished sounding like a salesman.
“Thanks for the sales pitch, Carl. The answer is still no.” Gabe answered. “Let me give you a metaphor to help you understand. The price you’ll pay for an interview is gold. The price of privacy is platinum. Hope you understand now.”
Carl grunted. “Alright, thanks for your time.”
“Damn reporters. It had to be the third time today the pushy news anchor’s called about Armani.” Gabe said aloud gesturing with his hands. “Leave me alone, assholes!”
The driver one lane over in a blue Toyota Prius stared at him like he was nuts.
Gabe shot him a dirty look. “You got a problem, son?”
The man glared. ‘Odd looking fellow,’ Gabe thought. Traffic finally moved at the posted speed. Gabe sighed, happy to make progress.
Gabe arrived at his downtown Grand Rapids office twenty minutes later. The office was lined with posters of artists, CD’s encased in glass, and old school records. He heard his secretary typing on the computer and answering phone calls.
“Excuse me, Sir I’m going to put you on hold.” The secretary said. She slammed the phone onto the receiver and twisted in a half circle to face Gabe. “I am so sick of the calls regarding Armani. I’m going nuts.” She pulled on her hair. “Have you heard from him recently? He won’t answer my phone calls.”
“Yes, I talked to him a week ago. He’s the same and has no interest in ‘Faded Cross’.” Gabe walked to the counter and poured a cup of coffee. “There’s nothing like Starbucks coffee before a meeting.”
The secretary waved her hand. “They’re in the conference room waiting for you.”
“Are we out of sugar?” He asked.
She walked to the cupboard and pulled out a new bag. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to refill the bowl.”
Gabe smiled, his eyes roaming her body. “That’s fine, Katie. Maybe I wanted to admire you and I can see more of you when you stand.” He winked.
Katie blushed. “Thanks Gabe.” Katie was a thirty-year old single mother of two. She had beautiful black hair, innocent brown eyes, with curves in all the right places.
“You have my permission to be rude to people who keep calling about Armani.” Gabe said.
Katie laughed. “Good. I’ve said no to more people this week than I do to my kids in one week.”
Gabe sipped the coffee. “Now, this is Heaven. Well, I better not keep the band waiting. Cross your fingers that they work out.” He took a few steps and turned around. “Here, go take your lunch and the rest of the day off.”
Katie was shocked. “This isn’t necessary.” She said and tried to hand the one hundred dollar bill to him.
“Take it or you’re fired,” he joked. “Seriously, you’ve put up with a lot of shit lately and deserve it. Good day now, Katie.”
Katie watched him walk to the conference room, relieved for the break and economic boost. She wondered what secret Gabe was hiding. He wasn’t acting like himself. She picked up her purse and left not realizing it would be the last time she saw Gabe.
Gabe entered the conference room and looked at the men dressed in black. The five men stood to greet him and stared in awe like he was Elvis Presley come back from the dead.
“Hello gentlemen.” Gabe smiled. “We have a lot to discuss. I have listened to your demo CD and I believe your band has potential or quite frankly, you wouldn’t be here.”
The men grinned.
“Sir,” one of the men said. “How is Armani?”
Gabe’s face turned crimson red. “Let’s get this straight. We don’t have a relationship yet, and even if we did, that’s none of your business.” His gaze rested on each of the five band members. “Do I make myself clear?” He paused. “Now, let’s get to business.”
Chapter Nine
Armani drove to the funeral home in silence analyzing everything that was happening in his life. ‘Donovan, Donovan. Who the hell is he?’ Armani wondered. ‘And what am I to make of that hawk?’
Armani pulled into the parking lot and parked his black Lincoln Navigator. He took his black ski mask off and stared at the large white brick funeral home with two large pillars at the entrance. The shades were drawn and the lamps dimmed.
Armani walked to the funeral home lost in his thoughts when a noise stopped him. He looked up to see the hawk sitting in a nearby tree. Armani shuddered, picked up his pace and opened the door.
The funeral home was beautiful. A crystal chandelier hung in the entryway. Black, white and burgundy furniture accented the white walls covered in monotone pictures. Armani forgot how distorted the right side of his face was looking at the beauty inside this house of death.
A greeter approached him. “Hello, sir, may I help you?” He asked and ext
ended his hand.
Armani covered the burnt side of his face. “Forgive me. I know my appearance is appalling,” he apologized. “I’m here to see Mr. Jenkins. I informed him that I would be stopping in today.”
“No need to apologize,” he said and smiled. “Right this way.” The man walked ahead of Armani with a purposeful gait.
Armani followed at a slower pace and stopped to look in a room to his left. What heart wrenching agony the parents must be going through at the loss of their child. Armani stared at the small coffin where the child lay, unable to move when he saw a shadow appear behind the coffin.
The dark shadowy figure with red eyes stared at him. Armani shook his head. A chill ran down his spine as he watched the shadow become human, grasp the coffin and stare at the child. The man wore a long black cape. His long brown hair hung over his shoulders. The human lifted his head, red drops of blood trickled down his cheeks and onto the child. He stared at Armani, flashed long sharp fangs and bent over the child.
The man in black turned around. “Sir, are you coming? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He stood waiting for a response.
Armani pointed at the coffin. “There’s something wrong in here. Come look.” His eyes were glued on the man.
The man kissed the child. Armani blinked. The man moved with such swiftness.
“I’ll be right there.” The greeter said.
Armani’s heart pounded. The man by the coffin stood tall, stared at Armani and said, “Justice will be served for you both. I’m watching you, my friend. Don’t fear me for I will come for you soon.” He said his voice like Darth Vader’s.
“Who are you?” Armani asked, his hands shaking.
The funeral director approached Armani and clasped his hands in his. “Are you OK? Are you talking to someone?” He asked. He looked in the room and saw nothing wrong.
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