One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1)

by J Gordon Smith

  “Who is that?” I asked Garin quickly.

  “I don’t know. Vampire though,” he whispered. Garin pressed his hand into the small of my back and guided me in a gentle arc like a formal dance so we came into the stream of people going the other way.

  “You two look great together. A nice hat –” said one of the little old ladies in the local church stall as we flowed down the street passed her booth. Her head poked out of the tent.

  Garin let up on my back and we navigated upstream.

  “Thanks,” I said, adjusting my hat brim. “The pies smell amazing.”

  “The batch on the back shelves came out of the ovens less than ten minutes ago,” the little old lady said, wearing a crisp long flowing white dress with a small apron. “These are pretty popular keeping the girls busy in the church kitchen. I’m sure your handsome beau can spring ten dollars on a whole pie. Take it back and share it with the family.” She twittered, “Get you some points with the girl’s mother, it will.”

  I chose cherry. Garin paid for the pie and she quickly bagged it up so it would stay flat.

  “Now, I hear, mind you it’s idle gossip,” the little lady looked both ways down the street, and slid a couple of forks and some napkins in on top of the covered pie, “but some folks sit under the old oak tree in the square and eat the whole pie. I don’t believe such foolishness. But I’ll be here until the festival closes and I won’t tell no one if you come back for that second pie for the girl’s mother.” She twittered again, “Now have a good day. And you youngster's keep your energy up.”

  We laughed leaving her stall.

  Garin said, “That’s quite a church lady.”

  “I think she’s cute.”

  Garin navigated us around the stalls so we didn’t backtrack and saw the artists’ wares. I hadn’t been paying attention but we neatly ended up at the oak tree. We had been wandering long enough that sitting on the grass, the benches, or the chairs scattered around seemed attractive. A tinge of darkness crept in on the evening too.

  “You might want some dinner before having that dessert.” Garin handed me the second wrap.

  “I didn’t realize the day stretched out so much.” I quickly unwrapped the barbecue. Delicious scents wafted up. Whispering to me. Engaging.

  “You must be having a good time?” Garin asked me.

  “Yes. I’m having a good time at the Festival. And with you.” I had a couple of bites of the barbecue, still amazingly good.

  Garin watched the crowd. In another moment he said, “Look, the band is setting up. We’ll have a good seat here.”

  “Uh, Hmmn.” I managed.

  “You ate that barbecue fast.”

  I froze, swallowed, and said, “Habit from studying.” Crinkling up the paper I said, “Sorry, I revealed a wart too soon.”

  But Garin already had the pie out and handed me a fork, “I waited for this.”

  “You’ve got a fork too?”

  Garin licked his lip, “A naughty girl did choose my favorite color.”

  I sunk the tines of my fork through the pie shell. I played with Garin. The tines went in slowly. The crust crunched and flaked paper thin. I plucked a single glistening cherry dripping with filling and brought it to my lips. I held it there. The sugar as intense as his eyes on mine. I saw his intensity sweeping through him to his fingers where his fork spun like a stock trader’s pen. The cherry seemed silky and still oven warm. While I looked into his eyes my own desire grew. I bit into the cherry and it exploded in waves of sweet tartness across my mouth.

  I smiled at him, “This is really good.”

  His spinning fork dove into the dessert. He dipped out a cherry that came away with a frosting of powdered sugar. He carefully pierced it with his tooth. The juice ran across his lip as he leaned toward me and kissed me. I surrendered and lingered longer than I should have.

  The band started playing. Kids hopped and spun on the clear area in front of the stage. Over their heads the stage amplifiers pushed music at us.

  “This is really great dessert,” Garin kissed me again.

  We listened to the music and ate more pie although much more reserved now. I stole some glances at him and caught him looking at me. I turned to the music feeling warm and gushy inside. All good.

  After several songs the band took a break.

  “Hey there girl.”

  “Bethany!” I said, standing up and hugging her. “Garin, Bethany is my best friend from growing up. She’s in the same college but working on an Engineering degree and considering if she should go after her Masters.”

  Garin set aside the half-eaten pie we still snacked on and stood up. He extended his hand, “Hi, I’m Garin.”

  Bethany took his hand and curtsied. Her shoulder length black curls had been transformed into a mass of shiny ringlets. Like black chain mail glinting from under her narrow brimmed hat. Bethany liked Steam-punk and her hat and other little things about her overall Victorian attire revealed it. A pair of gear earrings, a necklace watch with its gearing exposed, welding goggles mounted on the hat.

  Garin bowed a little forward while lifting her hand to kiss it. Like a fancy prince out of the mists of time.

  “– Nice to meet you, Bethany. And great to hear there are more Engineers.”

  Bethany turned to me so Garin couldn’t see. Her face lit up and she mouthed to me, He’s Gorgeous! Then she turned and said, “Thank you Garin, nice to finally meet the guy I’ve spent a lot of text message allotments on over the last few weeks.”

  “Shhhh!” I demanded, pulling on Bethany’s sleeve.

  “Would you like to share some cherry pie?” Garin offered, “We’ll have to find you a fork … but a little old lady at the booth convinced us to get it and it’s very good.”

  Bethany said, “A little old lady? Stiffly starched white dress? That’s Margaret. She’s my cousin’s grandmother. She’s funny. Sometimes skirting the edge of innuendo –”

  “– slipped over that edge,” I said.

  “But she’s always at the church doing something. I think she runs the place,” Bethany waved across the park of people. Her mom waved back. “Well, I wanted to come over and say hi –”

  “– And investigate,” I poked her.

  “But my Dad’s back for a few days. He’s been traveling more lately. So I’m going to get back over there.”

  Garin nodded his head, “Glad you made it over.”

  “I am too Bethany.”

  Bethany turned while walking away, mouthing to me, “call me!” and “Cute cute cute!”

  I leaned into Garin. He draped his arm around me. The band started back up and the fireworks shot skyward. Cheers from the audience. The boom and percussion of the fireworks magically timed into the music beats.

  Garin bent his head down and pulled my chin up to kiss me. My wrist touched against his face while my fingers twisted into his wavy hair, tipping his hat slightly. The fireworks ended in a bright staccato of drums as the fireworks flung out short and intense behind the stage building into a loud cresting crescendo. Our kiss held for a moment but the caress seemed to stretch time until everything else faded away from us. As if we stood alone under the ancient tree in an empty park. Fluttering doves in the crisp evening light. Points of starlight flying from deep space piercing the night in a multitude of bursts and streaks and fantasy. We pulled apart and the music and fireworks finished their last measures quietly – until the crowd erupted with whistles and claps and cheers.

  “That’s our show! Thank you for a great evening! Goodnight!”

  The stage dropped into darkness and strings of lights brightened over the park adding a warm glow to the audience. People filed out. Big dresses and hats chased by little girls in streamers and older gentlemen in bowlers. The low lighting, the period attire, and my mind still swimming in the aftereffects of the kiss seemed dreamlike. I couldn’t tell if the kiss or the food, glancing at the half eaten pie, caused my stomach qualms. At least I didn’t have as much of the
pie. Queasy and tired. “Let’s go home.”

  “Sure. It’s probably hard to get the car out of the lot yet. But maybe by the time we get there.” We eventually came to the car and climbed in. Garin eased the vehicle back from the parking spot and wound our way down the parking structure with the other cars to the street. We arrived back at my apartment building and my gentleman escorted me to the building door. I kissed him – hard.

  “Oh my,” said Mrs. Radish as she came up the steps and saw us.

  “Sorry,” I said, “see you tomorrow Garin?”

  “Yes. Probably late morning.”

  Mrs. Radish held the door for me. I heard Garin’s car pull away as I took the interior stairs. Mrs. Radish paused before her door, “Such a gentleman. When younger, in the free-love 70’s, we’d be up there already.” She put the key in her door lock, “He’s nice and being careful. He’s already thinking long term.”

  “Thanks.” I said and took the stairs two at a time like I floated up them. I closed and locked my door. I set the heavy train engine on the side table and ditched the remains of the pie in the refrigerator. I left a trail of clothes in my wake as I filtered back to my room and found a pair of fleece pajamas. I protectively laid the borrowed necklace on the dresser’s polished wood top. In the bathroom I scrubbed makeup off my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled my hair loose. I made for my bed and slipped under the covers.

  -:- Seven -:-

  … Ring … ring … ring …

  “Ah … Hello?” I said, still in a sleep fog. What time is it? I knocked my graphic novel and my Kindle off the side table while squinting at the clock. Only a chapter into reading a zombie story called Anger Of The Dead after finishing The Black Jewel at the coffee shop. Darkness still hovered outside the apartment window. The red letters of the clock glowed an angry five thirty. Can’t be. Maybe it’s five PM and I slept all day?

  “Anna,” the voice broke into sobs, “Bethany is dead.”

  I stood on my bed completely awake, “What happened?” I could hear the police in the background asking Bethany’s mother to return for more questions, “I gotta go, but can you come over?” Sobs. “Bethany’s father left last night on a work trip and I can’t get hold of him. It’s me and the police – I gotta go.”

  I tore off my fleece pajamas and flexed my arms into a sports bra followed by a t-shirt and a zippered hoodie. My jeans slipped on quickly along with a mismatched-but-I-don’t-care pair of socks and sneakers. I grabbed my purse and keys and locked the door on the way out. I ran down the stairs and out to the parking lot behind the building to get in my car. The drive to Bethany’s is a long trip of stop lights. More than a dozen lights. I swear I spent more time waiting at lights than wheels spun on the streets but the roads in reality are long too.

  The whole time I fluttered back and forth in my mind. I watched my speed in the car not worried about getting a ticket so much as the amount of time the cop would take in writing the stupid thing. My mind bounced back to Bethany and thinking I should have called her last night but now too late and I should have stayed with Bethany but that makes no sense since she stayed with her family and I have so much to share with her and never will get to again. My eyes blurred so badly I’m not sure how I stayed out of the other lanes nor saw those stupid lights trip to red at every intersection. Damn highway designers dropping lights at every subdivision exit and then not timing them to the real traffic and not thinking about global warming and how much energy is burned idling at lights or accelerating away from them nor thinking that it’s barely past five fricking AM on a Sunday morning and no one is driving out of those subs, yet here I sit in front of another red light with no one else around. Except for that cop car hiding amid the dewy bushes across the way. Another waste of an hour if I’d run the empty intersection light. I pounded on the wheel, “damn light – TURN!” when it did I jammed my foot on the accelerator and lurched forward.

  I wiped my face as I finally came to the house. I had to look closely to see where to park. Police cars and emergency response vehicles scattered everywhere across the driveway and lawn of the modest two-story. Flashing lights. Yellow police caution tape stretched around the yard like when the neighborhood kids toilet papered the house back in tenth grade. The tears welled up again. Off duty police and detectives had been called in – a couple of them still wearing Victorian garb. One still dressed as an old sheriff including his ten gallon hat with three bullet holes through it, arriving from his girl-friend’s when the call came in.

  “Hi,” I said to an officer near the tape line. “Mrs. Gale called me to see her.”

  “Miss, we’re not letting anyone across. It’s a murder scene.”

  “Can you radio someone to tell her I’m here?” I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve, I didn’t care about being lady-like. I barely kept myself together.

  “All right. Not many people out at six in the morning.” he touched the radio call button dangling on his shoulder, “I’ve got a friend of the mother’s.”

  “shquirpted … shquirpted … rugtgtl rupplweet quellteiniss … shuirpted.” the radio at his hip blared back.

  “They will bring her out here to talk with you.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at his radio, “How do you understand that radio?”

  “It doesn’t take long.”

  “In a world full of digital music players I’d think we’d have better radios.”

  He shrugged.

  “Hi Mrs. Gale,” I said, remaining calm. “I’m so sorry.”

  She came to the tape and I hugged her. We practically squeezed the breath out of each other and didn’t say anything else. Mrs. Gale had always been excessively thin but now starkly bony in her sorrow.

  “Where’s Patrick?”

  “I called our neighbor. He’s over there playing with their son. Too much for a seven year old.” her eyes filled and poured down over her cheeks. “I can’t believe my girl is gone!”

  I hugged her again.

  The front door banged open and the EMS crew rolled out a stretcher covered in a white sheet like every television show and movie I’d ever seen. I couldn’t believe I watched this happen – with my best friend. My face sticky and wet as I pushed away new tears.

  A figure that didn’t look quite like a police detective, a mix of military short haircut just long enough to comb with a part, wearing a new style black business trench coat and boots crossed between black heavy construction work boots and rugged hiking boots approached. He had one of those flip-over notepads and a fountain pen. I saw the glints of pistol handles hanging in his armpit shoulder holsters as the breeze from his walking pace billowed the coat out like a dark-winged bird. A pair of Wakizashi sword handles disguised as police batons hugged his hips.

  “Hello,” he said as he approached, “Mrs. Gale we have a lot more work to do. You might want to stay with your neighbor and son.”

  “Ok, thanks, Mr. Branoc.”

  He lifted the tape for her, “Mrs. Gale, it looks like a complicated situation given your husband’s work. You said he called you from the Chicago airport while waiting for his next flight to Atlanta?”

  “Yes. A flight path to North Carolina via Chicago and Atlanta with three hours layover in Chicago.”

  “Crazy computer program tells the airlines it’s the lowest aggregate cost. The airline called me and confirmed he boarded the plane and still remains in the air but is likely nearing his landing. That was 3am when you talked to him on the phone?”

  “Yes, I looked in on my son and daughter while I talked with him. We love our kids. Why would someone do this?” She burst into sobs.

  Mr. Branoc pursed his lips and waved me to take her.

  I put my arm around and guided her across the street to the neighbor and her son.

  I didn’t know what to do. The neighbor and Mrs. Gale had been friends for years and she would comfort her best. I uselessly added extra tears to cause Mrs. Gale to rip into her sobs again. So I finally excused myself and went back to t
he tapeline.

  I asked the police officer, “Is Mr. Branoc available? I saw Bethany last night at the festival. I’d like to help if I can.” A different officer now – like shift change at the fast food joint.

  “Shquirpted … shquirpted … rugtgtl rupplweet quellteiniss … shuirpted.” the radio at his hip blared back.

  “He’ll be over to talk in a few minutes.”

  A tight pinch started at the front of my head, a symptom from when I don’t get that initial caffeine load in the morning. But I had to push through it. Mr. Branoc came to the tape.

  I started with, “I saw her briefly at the festival. But we’ve been best friends since growing up.” I began crying again but steeled myself. I’ll be ok. I’ll be ok. “Sorry. What happened?”

  Mr. Branoc began, “The timing window shows the victim had been killed between that airport phone call and five am when the call from Mrs. Gale got to the emergency board.” He hesitated like wondering how much he should really tell me, “Bethany fell across her bed during a small struggle in her room by someone that greatly outmatched her strength. A firm grip on her arms and wrists and bruising on her sides and hips but she died from a close range gun blast. Nothing seemed missing from her room like a robbery. Preliminary police reports are putting it as random violence. A pretty girl so possibly sexually motivated and the gun simply went off in the struggle.”

  Stark description of the violence. I needed to focus on something else, “You’re not part of the police?”

  “No. I’m a special adjunct agency of both the FBI and CIA – which causes a lot of political bureaucracy issues for my group at the VBA. But the nature of her father’s work causes secondary investigations.”

  “Yes. Bethany told me.”