A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost

by Patricia Mason

  “She is gone, disappeared.”

  He kissed the back of the other hand.

  “How will you go on if you do not see her again? The fates have separated you from the only woman you will ever love. It is a tragedy, no?”

  “No.” Giselle pulled her hands from his and wiped the backs on her skirt.

  “You do not love Vector? Tell me what I can do to make you love me?”

  “Well, they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You should try it some time.”

  He frowned with confusion. Vector’s confusion always looked suspiciously like constipation.

  “Never mind. What are you doing here?”

  “I donate a painting to VICTIM for what they call an auction silent. It is what they call publicity for Vector’s art.” He waved toward an easel to the side of the bar.

  Leaning against the back of the easel, perched atop a shelf, was an oil painting three feet high by two feet wide. The painting, a portrait with an impressionistic, dreamlike quality, depicted a figure who appeared to be standing in a fog. But the figure—obviously intended to be Vector—had fangs protruding from his upper lip and blood rivulets running down each side of his painted chin.

  Vector watched her reaction eagerly.

  “Ummm,” she said after a long pause.

  A silent auction notebook hung from the shelf, but it contained no bids. No surprise there.

  “It is good, yes?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Of course it is good. I create the style, which is unique in all the world.”

  A voice piped in behind them. The voice of the bully. “Anyone who imagines that they are creating anything new in the art world is completely self-aggrandizing.”

  Vector turned and smiled at Mr. Bully. “Oh yes, I am very grand.”

  “Harrumph.” The bully stalked away, pulling his klepto behind him.

  Giselle had to purse her lips together firmly to keep from laughing. Vector mistook her expression.

  “Do not worry, mon amour. I am not the real vampire. You see?” Vector indicated his pink-hearted identification badge. “I paint myself as many different characters. This one, it present Vector as Dracula. I paint a series of Vector as the characters from books.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Oui,” he said in a gleeful tone. “There is Dracula, Romeo of course, Julius Caesar, Oliver Twist…”

  “The seven dwarfs.”

  Vector actually jumped up and down with excitement. “Oui. You have seen? It is one of my most popular.”

  “I bet. You seem like the right type for it.”

  He preened. “Merci. I paint myself as each of the dwarfs in separate portraits and the final painting, it is all seven Vector dwarfs marching. Spectacular. Seven feet tall and ten feet wide.” Vector’s face glowed proudly. “But my most famous in the series is the sea captain Moby Dick.”

  “Moby Dick isn’t the sea captain, it’s the name of the whale.”

  “Who?”

  “Whale.”

  “Quoi?”

  “What?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stop it. You’re confusing me,” Giselle said. “I’m talking about the whale. You know, the big thing that swims in the ocean.”

  “Whale?” He became indignant. “Vector is not fish.”

  “A whale isn’t a fish. It’s a mammal.”

  “Vector is not a fish or a mummy. I do not think Vector would look good with the bandages all over him. You could not see Vector’s face.” He shook his head vigorously. “No, Vector is a sea captain, Moby Dick.”

  “No. I think you mean Ahab.”

  “Eh!” Vector responded, clearly peeved. He wagged his finger at her. “I am from France, I am not Arab.”

  “I didn’t say… Never mind.”

  His face softened immediately. “I forgive you, mon amour.” He grabbed her hand and made a move to kiss it again.

  Giselle yanked her arm away. “Eww. Don’t kiss me. Didn’t I say I never wanted to see you again?”

  “Oui. But you do not mean it. You say this to incite the lust in Vector. You are very smart,” he said tapping his temple and smiling slyly. “You track Vector to this party. Vector knows your game.” He chuckled Frenchly.

  “I am not playing any game.” Giselle looked around. How could she get away from this skunk?

  “Okay. You win. We have sex now. The bathroom it is free.”

  “I think you may be wrong about that,” she said, having a sudden flashback to Madam Divinity in a clinch with Kopeleski.

  Vector must have seen Giselle wrinkle her nose and curl her lips. “Then we find some other place—the kitchen would be good. You do not miss the party. There are no worries. I am very fast.”

  “You make it so tempting.” Her sarcasm was lost on the French skunk. He grinned in response. “No,” Giselle said. “You’re missing the point. I am not going to have sex with you in the bathroom or in the kitchen.”

  “Okay, we go back to your hotel room and have the sex, yes?” Vector moved closer, into the zone of Giselle’s personal space.

  She backed up. He stepped forward. She backed up again. She couldn’t think with him so close. It made her skin crawl.

  “No. I don’t have a hotel room. I’m staying with someone.”

  “That is okay with Vector. I am into the ménage a trois. You know, the threesome.”

  “Eww.” She backed farther away. “Get away from me, you freak.”

  “Attention please.”

  The chatter in the room ceased and the group turned en masse to look at Marissa La Bianca as she made her announcement.

  “Would everyone please follow me into the courtyard outside? The Vampire Lester is ready for an audience.”

  Giselle skulked behind Vector as she and the other partygoers toddled through to the hallway and out the back door of the castle. She found it difficult to hide behind the Frenchman. He was so puny, but Giselle gave it her best try. She didn’t want Marissa to see her.

  “Why do you crouch back there? Are you afraid of the vampires, ma petite?” Vector said. “Do not worry. I will protect you. As long as it does not injure my hands.”

  “Yeah. I know. You’re an artiste, not a soldier.”

  “Oui. But the vampires they do not want to hurt you. They only want your money.”

  She hoped that was true.

  * * * * *

  Light from the full moon illuminated the Vampire Lester, who stood atop a tiny stage at the center of the courtyard. He posed, swathed in a long cape, which he had drawn around himself like a black cocoon. His face had been painted white with charcoal black around his eyes. A blood-red tear was drawn under his right eye and ran down his cheek.

  He stared forward, unspeaking, until the assembly had fully gathered and quieted in front of him.

  “We imagine ourselves living in a free society.” When he spoke, his voice had a low but arresting intensity. “A society of tolerance. A society of equality. A society of justice. But America is not the land of freedom, opportunity and justice for all. Once every thirty seconds a vampire suffers discrimination in this country. We have been tortured.”

  Hadn’t it been every fifty seconds earlier according to the VICTIM recording?

  The dramatic silence continued for a few seconds before Lester spoke again. “There are some of the vampire race here tonight who have suffered discrimination personally. They wear the purple heart to signify their wounds.”

  Giselle saw several partygoers looking around. Probably searching for purple hearts. Crap. She curled a little tighter behind Vector.

  Lester continued. “Vampires are not allowed to pursue happiness with the rest of the citizens of America. We can be silent no longer. We must unite and fight.”

  The crowd went silent. Lester slowly spread his arms. The cape began to open, open, open until his arms had stretched it wide, like giant bat wings on either side of Lester’s wraithlike body.

  There crowd gave a soft “Oooh”.

/>   “We at VICTIM are committed to civil disobedience of all kinds. Our protests will carry the logo of VICTIM. It is a mark that all will come to know so that they may realize who suffers to reveal the injustice around them. Behold our mark. See it and know what it signifies.”

  Lester pointed upward. Then a floodlight switched on with a click at the edge of the courtyard. Giselle could see Marissa behind a large movie-premier-style fixture. The beam of light first brightly illuminated Lester’ feet then panned up his body, his arm and into the sky. It shone into the sky in the shape of—a bat.

  Oh yeah. All would know what that logo signified. Giselle couldn’t help herself. She started giggling. She heard someone else begin tittering behind her. Then murmurs of Batman could be heard. Then snickers turned to guffaws from the crowd. Someone started humming the television show theme. More laughter ensued.

  “Who’s laughing?” The Vampire Lester roared. His voice deeper and stronger than one could imagine came from his frail frame.

  The laughter cut off. There was complete silence. Even the night insects had stopped their chirping.

  “Who dares to mock the plight of the vampires,” Lester roared.

  “I think it was that Anne Rice woman who started it,” Mr. Eye Patch offered from the back door opening.

  Oh, how helpful of him.

  “What? Who?” Lester cried. “She is here?” Lester went rigid. His eyes rolled back until just the whites were visible. He began to shake. Lester seemed to be caught in the throes of some kind of conniption fit as tremors passed up and down his body. Finally, he collapsed in a heap on the platform.

  Marissa screamed. Mr. Eye Patch and the partygoer throng rushed forward almost as one to Lester’s aid.

  Giselle attempted to surreptitiously inch backward against the flow. Then she broke into a run toward the house.

  Great. She didn’t have a ghost, so she would soon be out of a job. And now she had probably killed Lester. But then she thought of the upside. He was already dead. The undead couldn’t really be killed, right?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Giselle ducked into the castle and tried to close the screen door behind her without making a sound. If she could avoid attracting any attention, she could get away clean without being seen by anyone dangerous.

  Through the mesh of the screen, Giselle saw Lester cradled in Marissa’s arms. Partygoers surrounded them. Someone Giselle didn’t recognize held something under the vampire’s nose. He moaned and twitched, starting to awaken from his stupor.

  “Mon amour,” Vector shouted from mid-courtyard.

  The partygoers turned, almost as if choreographed, from Lester to stare first at Vector and then at the object of his shout.

  “Giselle, wait for Vector. We have the sex now.”

  Marissa’s head jerked up and her eyes met Giselle’s.

  “It’s Anne Rice.” The ever-helpful Mr. Eye Patch called and pointed toward her.

  Marissa drew to attention with a start. Giselle saw the emotion boiling up inside the other woman. Such rage and hatred twisted Marissa’s expression that it made Giselle gasp.

  Giselle pivoted and prepared to sprint down the hall to the front door. Just a few hundred feet stood between her and freedom. Before she could move, however, the front door opened. Ren, or maybe it was Field, came barreling through.

  Uh-oh. Exit blocked. There would be only a split second before they spotted her there.

  Giselle tried the handle of a closed door on her right. The knob turned but stuck. She gave it a firm push and heard the crack of the wood in the frame giving way as the door opened. Slipping inside, Giselle quickly closed it so that there was only a small gap while she huddled there, listening.

  No sound. No stomping feet. No yelling. Her fingers ran along the splintered wood around the lock. Oh well. Breaking the door would be the least of her crimes.

  Giselle noticed that the room behind her was a library. Books lined three walls on built-in shelves. A rectangular mahogany table with leather top had been placed at the center of the room. The green-domed lamp on the table cast a low glow of light in the room.

  Giselle pushed the door completely shut and moved closer to the light. She could see architectural plans rolled up in a large bundle on the right side of the library table. Papers and files had been scattered about. A book lay open on the left edge, precariously close to falling to the floor.

  Glancing behind her toward the closed door, she heard no sound from outside. She couldn’t resist investigating, so she rummaged through the papers and files. VICTIM pamphlets, manifesto and bumper stickers. She’d seen all of those before. She looked at the book. Someone had left it open to page three hundred. Giselle leaned forward and saw an unintelligible diagram of a cylinder with a cutaway of its interior. Giselle flipped the book closed, keeping her finger in place. She read the cover, The Anarchist’s Guide to Bombs and Other Nuisance-making Activities.

  Omigod. Was Lester planning to bomb something? Her attention flew to the plans. Her hands shook as she unrolled the bundle on the table. They were architectural plans all right. The Federal Courthouse on Wright Square. Omigod to the second power. She flipped in a few pages to the drawing of what looked to be mechanical ductwork. A large red ink mark on one area of the margin said Set up here. Omigod, Omigod, Omigod. She had to find Ry. Then they had to do something.

  Before the thought could be completed or acted on, Giselle felt a hand clamp over her mouth and an iron arm locked tight over her left arm and around her waist. She felt herself pulled back, hard, against a large, beefy body. Struggling against her captor, she twisted and squirmed.

  “Pick her up, you dolt, or she’ll get away,” Marissa said from behind her.

  The iron arm lifted her off her feet.

  Giselle tried not to panic. Panicking would do no good. She kicked backward with her now-dangling feet. Useless.

  How could she have come in here without a weapon? Oooh weapon. Giselle thrust her hand inside her pocket and pulled out the lighter. The beefy one behind her knocked it away easily and it clattered to the floor. Ridiculous.

  Giselle reached over her shoulder with her right hand and clawed at the face of the beefy one. She opened her mouth and the fingers that had been clamped over her lips slipped inside. She chomped down, hard.

  “Aaarrgh!”

  She bit down again.

  “Fu— Hurry up. She’s eating my fingers.”

  “Just hold on. I can’t find the stuff.” Giselle heard another beefy voice say across the room.

  She clawed again and felt her nails breaking.

  “Dammit. She’s going to scratch my eyes out. What’s taking you so long?”

  “I’ve got it now. Just hold her.”

  Still twisting, Giselle felt her feet hit the library table. She drew her legs up and braced them on the edge. She pushed out, straightening her bent knees and tore at the beefy face simultaneously.

  “Aaarrhhh!”

  She fell free at last as the beefy arm dropped away. Giselle rounded on the beefy one and struck with a kick counteroffensive that could be described as the ball-breaker. Field, or maybe it was Ren, cried like a girl, but Giselle didn’t have time to enjoy the sound.

  “Grab her,” Marissa shouted.

  The other beefy one grabbed at Giselle from behind and she felt a cloth go over her lips. The cloth had a sickly sweet smell. She tried not to inhale as she thrashed. But Giselle could feel herself going limp. Her muscles didn’t respond to her brain’s commands. But then her brain wasn’t exactly clear.

  She felt a darkness starting to invade her mind and steal over her eyes like a cloud over the sun. Giselle struggled to stay alert but consciousness slipped away, away, away. Her last thought was of the ghost. She hoped she wasn’t going to give it up.

  * * * * *

  A dark, weighted cloud lifted slowly from Giselle’s brain. At her first awareness, Giselle could hear voices around her but couldn’t seem to understand their words. Gradually som
e of the words began to make sense.

  “Blah, blah, blah, she, blah, blah, blah, blah, found, blah, blah. Blah, knows―” Mumbling. “Blah, blah, has to die.”

  She understood that last bit, and unfortunately she had some idea who the voice was talking about—her.

  Giselle tried to open her eyes but her lids seemed to be made of lead and glued shut. Concentrating hard, the glue loosened and she forced her lids to lift upward. Blurry vision ebbed away and the image in front of her cleared a bit. Marissa and Lester stood toe-to-toe a few feet away.

  The voices speaking unintelligible words came from them. Were they arguing? The vampire couple looked odd. They stood sideways, seemingly perpendicular to the ground, as if defying the laws of gravity. But as her vision and thinking continued to improve, Giselle saw that it wasn’t the couple who were positioned sideways in the air. They were located on the ground. It was Giselle who lay horizontally on something elevated.

  Giselle tried to move her arms and legs. They wouldn’t budge. For a moment she thought she was paralyzed. Then she felt the ropes that bound her legs together at the ankles. Her wrists had been similarly bound over her head and anchored to something.

  Starting to feel again wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Already a tingling of pain had begun in her shoulders and arms because of the unnatural position.

  She turned her head and looked forward, which meant up, and saw a huge luminously full moon overhead surrounded by an array of stars. The sky. She was outside. Duh. What a revelation. She was outside, where?

  Giselle tried to take in other elements of her environment. What did she feel underneath her? It felt like stone or brick. A hard and cold surface was pressing against her back and hurt her skull.

  Moving her neck to the side made her a bit dizzy and nauseous. But the movement brought the vampire couple back into view. Lester and Marissa, toe-to-toe, continued to argue. Beyond them, stood Ren and Field. Neither one of them looked too bright. Just big. And beyond them, crumbling brick walls of some kind of ruin.

  Giselle swiveled her head away from the vampires. Ugh. More nausea came with the movement. Must be the drug they’d used to knock her out that was making her want to ralph. She closed her eyes and it helped to quell the feeling.