by Lara Parker
A lonely heart grows attached to a daily companion. Where could she be? He had become accustomed to her seated beside him, singing her mournful songs or simply lying in his arms. He had kept her weak. If she were to regain her strength, he knew she would leave him, or make another clumsy attempt to destroy him, but he worried that he had drained her too much.
He had planned to let her go. Each time he embraced her he took less, for fear of turning her, which he did not wish to do. He was deeply disappointed to have discovered that she was not Angelique even though every gesture, vocal inflection, and contemptuous glance replicated the witch in his memory, her image etched on his brain. Although he tried in vain to dislodge the conviction that she was Angelique, at times when he looked at her, he was still certain. And even though his obsession with Antoinette had diminished as his need for her had grown, he had to admit she had nevertheless become valuable to him. Missing her, he called to mind her smoky odor, her silken flesh, and her curved body beneath his hands. He tried to tell himself he did not love her, or even like her, but something about her amused him, her defiance in the face of his disgusting demands, her resilience, and even her courage.
He saw everything clearly, but clarity brought no peace. Nor did it afford happiness of any kind. For a vampire, understanding is like walking through a desert where no green flourishes, a barren landscape, a vast plain bereft of water or wind. At times he found himself reliving the moments after his first human death when Angelique had cursed him to eternal misery: You wanted your Josette so much, Barnabas. Well, you shall have her. But not in the way you imagined. You have become one of the living dead. You will never rest. And you will never be able to love. For whoever loves you will die.
In rage and disbelief he had turned on her and strangled her, screaming: And do you still love me, Angelique? Did you know you would be the first? How filled with hatred he had been then. And his entreaty: I would rather be lying in my coffin with a stake through my heart than be the way I am now. Than go through eternity as what I have become!
Time to go into the night, to seek a new victim, one that would keep him more alive than dead for another day. Time to wander the back streets along the docks where vagrants with no desire to live slept in piss-smelling corners of the gutter. Time to light the flame one more time.
* * *
When David reached Collinwood he was surprised to see a white van and the sheriff’s squad car parked in front. Quentin came to the door and tried to steer David away from the corpse—in a black plastic bag zippered up the front—being carried out on a stretcher.
“What happened?”
“Uh, it seems … well … an accident. You don’t need to see it.” Quentin placed a hand on David’s arm. David was shocked to see that the hand was veined, the bones showing through the skin. He looked up at Quentin and wondered whether he had any memory of their meeting in the past. He thought he had never seen him look so haggard and—he might as well admit it—old. He had always considered Quentin a model of masculine good looks, but now a three-day beard shadowed his gaunt face, the jowls hanging on the skull. He remembered the painting, safely hidden, and he was about to tell Quentin when his cousin said in a gravelly voice, “I think you’d better go in the house. Blair wants to talk to the family.”
“Blair?”
“Yes, the expert on the occult, remember?” And Quentin smiled conspiratorially at David, and then winked. Perhaps he did remember after all.
Roger, Elizabeth, and Carolyn were gathered in the foyer, their faces drawn and their voices hushed. On the other hand, Dr. Nathanial Blair was energized as if he had discovered a nugget of gold and was taking it to the surveyor’s office. He held a triangle of black velvet in his hand.
“Is anyone missing?” said Blair, looking around. “What about the servants?”
“David,” said Roger, “it’s about time you came home. Will you go to the kitchen and fetch Mrs. Johnson and take a look out back to see if you can find Willie?”
“Actually, Father, I’ve come for Julia. Jackie’s mother is sick and I think she needs a doctor.”
Blair brightened with new interest. “There is a doctor living here?”
“Well, yes, Dr. Hoffman, the family physician,” said Elizabeth coolly. “Although I haven’t seen her or spoken with her for several days. I think she must have gone away. Or moved out without telling us.”
“Oh, nothing of the kind.” A nervous but rather arrogant voice came from the top of the stair. “I had to make a short journey to visit my sister, but I have returned.”
Julia was poised on the landing, one hand on the banister, and David blinked in amazement. He had always thought of her as rather old-maidish-looking, but today she seemed almost radiant. She was wearing her tweed suit, which complemented her eyes, and her auburn hair was pulled back severely in a tidy bun. She tipped her head in her superior manner.
“What seems to be the problem, David?”
“It’s Antoinette, Jackie’s mom. There’s something the matter with her. She’s dizzy and weak, and she just fainted.”
“I’d be more than happy to go over and take a look at her. Let me get my bag.”
She turned to climb the stairs but stopped where a sharp ray of sunlight pierced the stained-glass window, casting a multicolored rainbow on the balcony. She hesitated, and at that moment Blair crossed the floor and held out his hand.
“Excuse me, Dr. Hoffman, before you go, may I introduce myself? Dr. Nathanial Blair. I was here earlier, but we failed to connect. I wonder if I might ask you something before you leave. As a fellow physician and scientist.”
She turned slowly and looked down on Blair. Her eyes were copper colored. “Why yes, of course. What is it?”
“There’s been an unfortunate murder in the basement—”
“Oh no…”
“And I believe it to be the work of a vampire.”
Julia made a hissing sound and pursed her lips as she jerked her chin upward. “There are no such things.”
“But that is where you are wrong. There are vampires. And I believe there is one living here, in this house.”
Julia fixed Blair with a stony stare, as though she were measuring his capabilities. “And what makes you so sure?”
“We have found the coffin and inside it was a dead body, obviously an old victim, and this.” He held up a triangle of dark cloth.
“What is it?”
“I believe it is part of the vampire’s clothing.”
Julia stared, her face impassive. “I really fail to see—”
“And then there is the new victim, the exterminator’s son. First of all the head was—”
Roger interrupted. “Excuse me, Dr. Blair, but the details are not necessary.”
“Alright. I’m simply relating the facts. And the proof.”
“Yes, and what is the proof?” Julia was becoming haughty.
“The body was completely drained of blood.”
Julia waited, then said, “And this is the basis upon which you make this ridiculous claim?” before ascending the stairs.
“Could it have been coyotes, Dr. Blair?” asked Elizabeth. “There have been reports of a large and unusual band in the forest around the graveyard.”
Carolyn looked up, her face stricken. “Several nights ago I could swear I heard a wolf howling.”
“Well, actually, Miss Collins, that’s the report I plan to make,” offered the sheriff. “That it was a wolf. Wandered down from the Canadian border.”
“How could it have gotten in?”
“There’s a window at the back of the basement—”
Blair broke in. “I simply want to say, to the sheriff and to you all, that I mean to get to the bottom of this. And if any of you know anything and are not telling me, when I do find the vampire—and I will find it, be certain of that—I will report that you are harboring a fugitive.”
“I resent your threats,” said David in sudden anger. “What are you doing here? In ou
r house.”
“I was invited—”
“Yes, I asked him to come,” said Quentin, “to … conduct a—that is, another—séance.”
“And now he’s calling the shots? How does he get to do that?” David’s outburst caused uncomfortable murmurs among the family members, but Blair was calm.
“David, I’m here to help—”
“Don’t try to pull that on me. Nobody just helps. Everybody wants something and you’re no exception. You want to use us.” He walked over and stood face-to-face with Blair. “This is a private family with problems that are ours alone. Do you understand? Ours alone. You need to leave us in peace.”
Julia reappeared in a long coat, scarf, and gloves. “David?”
“Yes, sorry, Julia.” David turned to Roger. “Father, I don’t understand why you put up with this kind of intrusion. All this silly talk about vampires. Honestly. Tell him to go away and write his book somewhere else.”
* * *
Julia slipped into Jackie’s bedroom where the girl was asleep next to her mother and removed the coat, gloves, and scarf she had worn to protect herself from the cold, and the sun. She looked over at Jackie questioningly.
“She took her medication,” offered David. “It always puts her out.”
“I see.”
Antoinette moaned and opened her eyes. “Dr. Hoffman?”
Julia leaned in and took Antoinette’s wrist in her hand. “Yes,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She looked at her watch.
Antoinette jerked her arm away. “No. I don’t want you to do that.”
But Julia was already leaning in with her stethoscope. “Just relax. I’m here to help you,” she said. “How long have you been feeling dizzy?”
Antoinette raised herself up and tried to get out of bed. But she fell back again and groaned. “You are very pale,” said Julia as she inserted the thermometer. “Have you been eating well?”
But again Antoinette had lost consciousness.
Julia looked at the thermometer and turned to David.
“I think it may be an infection. She has a high fever. Does she have a wound anywhere? Or a cut?”
David hesitated, afraid of what he might reveal. “Uh … on her neck.”
Julia drew back Antoinette’s hair and exposed the two puncture wounds, well used and enflamed. Almost inaudibly, she caught her breath.
“I think,” she said evenly, “it may be sepsis. Possibly life threatening. I should take her to the hospital.”
“We can call an ambulance.”
“No. I’m going in today already and I can check her into Emergency. Since I am a physician registered there, it will be quicker.”
Jackie slept peaceably, her eyelashes fluttering in a dream.
“Do you want me to come with you?” asked David, a little reluctantly since he did not want to leave Jackie. She looked so innocent and vulnerable, her migraine finally tamed.
“You really are a fine young man,” said Julia, replacing her instruments in her bag. “Your father must be proud. Everyone in the family should be. You will be the one who inherits the estate and I believe you will serve it well. Unless of course you jeopardize your future in an inappropriate marriage.” She looked meaningfully toward Jackie; then, after gathering up her medical case and pulling on her heavy coat, she placed a hand on Antoinette’s shoulder.
“Can you help me take her to my car?”
* * *
There was no road, but a vague snowy path through the woods beneath the dark trees. As Julia drove she felt she was entering a tunnel and then a cave. There was no sun, only a pale orb in a sky grayed over with clouds, and when she stepped from the car, it would have no power to burn her.
There was a stream here, but it was long buried, not even the sound of trickling beneath the ice. There was a lake, but it was a burnished gray sheet, wisps of fine ice dust whirling across it. A mallard with a green head, separated from his flock, chased his shadow across the frozen ice, caught it, and let it go.
And then the snow began to fall again.
Julia sat behind the wheel and watched flurries spinning in the trees. Her mind was a vortex of pain. She looked over at the woman dying beside her on the seat of the car. Bitterly, she stared as long as she was able at the emaciated, but still beautiful, face, the heavy blond hair, the closed eyes deep in their sockets. She saw the resemblance to Angelique, the high brow and the small chin. Then she convulsed and, her body heaving with sobs, she wept but shed no tears.
When she opened the door to the passenger side, Antoinette fell out, her arms and shoulders flopping onto the snow, her legs still in the car. Her head fell back and revealed her neck, the orifices gleaming crimson. She was still breathing but Julia could see she would die soon. She could save her in only one way—share her own blood—and that she would not do. Another vampire? Never.
Reaching up under Antoinette’s arms, she pulled her from the car until she lay sprawled in the snow. Her green dress and scarlet coat were riotous against the white earth. Her yellow hair spread like a stain. She moved one leg cramped beneath her and her eyes fluttered as she groaned, then opened them just in time to see Julia descend, incisors flashing.
But she was a fighter and did not go easily. Finding some last resource of strength, she cried out, scrambled from beneath Julia’s embrace, and lurched to her feet. She ran like a wounded doe, crazily lunging and limping, thrashing through underbrush, clawing her way in the drifts. Once she turned and throwing up her hands pleaded, “No, please … Oh, God,” before spinning and leaping again just out of Julia’s grasp. When Julia finally brought her down she still would not give over, but fought for her life with what little she had left, finally sinking her own teeth into Julia’s hand over her mouth that was pushing back her head and exposing her wounds. When helplessness came, she heard words she did not understand: You will never have him! Never! And then darkness closed in.
* * *
Barnabas managed to fly jerkily, tree to tree, until he reached the cemetery. He opened the wooden door to the small snowbound crypt and plunged his hands into the dark interior. Frantically he felt over the stones and scratched his palms across the dirt floor.
Impossible! The painting was not there. With clumsy thrusts, he scooped the leaves from the floor and cursed the rats that scrambled over his fingers. The crypt was empty! He had seen the painting less than three weeks ago. He had uncovered it and held it in his hands, trembling under its power. He had witnessed its devilish transformations, and out of anger and disgust he had ripped it in half against the stone.
He sat back, bewildered and panicked. Who had taken it away? Who even knew it had been hidden in this insignificant vault? He remembered hearing boys in the woods. Had they been out robbing graves? Not likely in this weather. Perhaps Quentin had been drawn to it since there was every reason to imagine that it would call to him. If it were now in Quentin’s possession, then he had no more need to worry. That could be the only explanation.
He was disappointed, robbed of closure. Nights of torture had led to this uncertainty, not knowing if the werewolf would come again to attack on the full moon. He rose and stood in the graveyard, wondering what to do next. A fine snow was falling so lightly, every flake hung in the air. The woods were filled with mist, the ground was powdered, and every tree was feathered. In the dazzling haze it was hard to make out familiar shapes. The air was filled with tiny points of light and all was lost in a glittering fog.
He heard an automobile moving slowly along the road beside the graveyard, and at the thought of someone alone in the twilight, his hunger returned. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he hung back and watched as the car stopped and sat for many moments while the snow fell upon it like sugar from a sifter. Then a shadow of a woman emerged slowly and clumsily dragged something from the passenger’s seat before she disappeared. The snow whispered its own silence, as ominous as death.
He waited, breathing in flakes, wondering what had become of her. T
he car stood darkly, barely visible.
“Good evening, Barnabas.”
He wheeled at the voice. So familiar. His heart plunged.
“Julia! My God!”
She stood in the hoary air, the snow nearly obscuring her face, and her smart suit and overcoat plus a scarf wrapped around her hair disguised her aura.
“You didn’t expect to see me?”
“No … I mean, how did you…?”
“Escape?” She laughed bitterly. “I am a vampire, remember?”
He floundered for words. “Julia, I … I would have come back for you. What I did I did in a fit of anger. I have regretted it every night since. Please, try to forgive me. I was going to come back, but I was attacked—”
“Attacked?” Had she narrowed her eyes? Her face was a shadow.
“By a werewolf. He nearly killed me. This is the very first night I have been abroad—”
Then she was gone.
He whirled, panicked, searching for her. She reappeared behind him, but the gauzy air obscured her, and her voice was like the hum of the wind.
“How have you fed until now?”
Guilt flooded him. “Someone … cared for me.”
“A woman?”
He could not see her. She was only a voice in the swirl of snow.
“Yes, Julia, please—” Then she was revealed, stark against the white sky, her face contorted with grief.
“How could you, Barnabas? How could you betray me? I gave you everything I had to give. My love. My life.”
He drew near her. Reached for her with his mind. “Julia, if you must know the truth, I wanted to spare you. This life is not for you. It is an eternity of malevolence and misery. You must maim. You must murder. Is that what you want? It’s better that you remain asleep.”
“Oh, Barnabas. Seeing you again, I only know that I loved you. I only wanted to spend eternity with you. That was my dream. You met with misfortune, and … and when I could have helped you … you turned to another.”
“Julia, listen to me. I was near death. I could not move; I could not walk. If not for her I would have died.”
“And did she come to you of her own will? Or did you summon her? Desiring her?”