Loved vj-2

by Морган Райс

  They parted ways respectfully, and as Kyle walked down the middle, they closed up the alley way again.

  Kyle approached the rear of the ship, hidden from the public. Several more of his kind stood by it, and when they saw him approaching, they immediately got to work. They lowered a huge ramp in the side of the hull, and began to wheel down an immense carton, boxed up in plywood. Ten men rolled the massive carton slowly down the ramp, down to the cobblestone sidewalk. Kyle came up to it.

  “My master,” a short, balding vampire said to Kyle, running up to him and bowing.

  This man was sweating profusely, and seemed very nervous. His eyes darted all over the place.

  He must have been looking out for the police. And it looked as if he had been waiting a long time.

  Good. Kyle liked to make people wait.

  “It is all here,” the man continued, in a rush. “We’ve checked it several times. It’s all safe and sound, my master.”

  “I want to see it,” Kyle said.

  The man snapped his fingers and four men ran over. They raised crowbars to the carton, and removed one of the wooden planks. They tore away at layer and layers of heavy duty plastic.

  Finally, Kyle stepped up and reached in. He felt a cold, glass vial, and extracted it.

  He held it up, examining it under the light of a street lamp.

  Just as he remembered. Microbes of the bubonic plague swarmed in his hand, perfectly intact.

  He smiled slowly.

  Now his war could begin.

  Kyle wasted no time. Within hours, he was in Penn Station, ready to get to work. As he marched through the station, against the crowd, his temper flared. He walked right into hordes of people, at rush hour, all racing to get home to their pathetic little families and homes and husbands and wives. He felt his hatred well.

  If there was anything he hated worse than a human, it was mobs of them, rushing to and fro in every direction as if their lives mattered even a bit, as if their mere 100 years on this earth held any consequence at all. Kyle had outlived and outlasted them all, generation after generation, for thousands of years. Even the more significant humans, like Caesar and Stalin and—his favorite, Hitler—had been practically forgotten within a few hundred years of their lifetime. They were something at the time, but nothing shortly afterwards. Their frenetic movements, their feelings of self-importance, rattled him to the core. He felt like killing every single one of them. And he would.

  But not at this moment.

  Kyle had important work to do. Truly important work. He was flanked by a small entourage of eight vampire thugs, and they all strutted through the crowd as quickly as possible. Each carried a backpack. And each backpack was packed with 300 vials of the plague. They would split into four teams, and each team, like the four Horsemen, would spread their death to each corner of the station. One team would cover the station itself, one the Path to Grand central, one the A, C, or E subway line, and one the 1 or the 9 train line. Kyle reserved the best location for himself alone: Amtrak. He smiled to think that his portion of the plague would spread farther and wider than any of the others. Just maybe he could take out other cities, too.

  Kyle had other vampire minions hard at work, too, in subway stations all over the city, in Grand Central, and in Times Square.

  Kyle nodded, and the teams immediately split up. He walked alone towards the Eighth Avenue entrance.

  He descended the escalator, walked to the end of the platform, then kept walking, past the point where anyone was looking. He quickly jumped down onto the tracks. As he landed, rats parted ways.

  They could sense his presence. How ironic, Kyle thought. It was the rats who spread the plague to begin with. Now, they ran from it.

  Kyle walked into the blackness, down the tunnel, sticking to the side of the rail. He kept walking, and finally came to the juncture where all the tracks met. He reached into his backpack and took out a vial, and held it up under an emergency light. He could barely contain his excitement. He set down the pack, reached in with both hands, and got to work.

  After so many centuries of waiting, it was now only a matter of hours.

  EIGHT

  Sam couldn’t believe his luck. He was being shown around an awesome house by a gorgeous girl—a senior, no less—who seemed into him. She was hot. And really cool. And she had the entire place to herself.

  It was like an angel from God had come down and dropped her into his lap. He still couldn’t believe it. It was just what he needed, and at just the right time. He was afraid that any second all of his luck would turn, and she’d ask him to leave. But she didn’t seem in any rush to ask him to go. In fact, she seemed like she wanted company. And she didn’t even care that he’d been in her barn. In fact, she seemed to have liked finding him there. He couldn’t believe it. He’d never had any luck in his life like this before.

  As he walked around, he saw that her house was still basically empty. No food in the fridge, and not even that much furniture. There was just a random chair here and there, and a small couch. That made him feel good, cause he could help her. If she wanted. He could help her fix it up, move stuff, buy food, shovel, whatever she needed. Even if she just let him crash in her barn, that would be cool. And if she wanted him in the house, well, that would be awesome. More importantly, he really liked her. He was lonely. He realized it now. He really liked being around her.

  “And this is the living room,” she said, as she walked him into the final room. It was really bare, no pictures on the wall, no rug on the floor—just a small loveseat in the middle.

  “Sorry it’s still so empty,” she said. “I just got here. I didn’t want to bring any of my old stuff. I figured I’d just get a new start.”

  Sam stood there, nodding. He was dying to ask her a whole bunch of questions. Like: where are you from? How did your parents die? Why did you come here?

  But he didn’t want to be too pushy. So he just stood there, nodding, like an idiot.

  He also felt kind of nervous. He was really attracted by her, more than he’d been by any girl in his life, and he didn’t really know what to say—and didn’t trust himself to say anything. He had a feeling that if he said anything, it would come out wrong.

  “Want to sit?” she asked, as she walked around and sat in the loveseat.

  Do I ever.

  He tried not to show his excitement. He tried to walk as casually as he could, as he came over and sat beside her. It was a small loveseat, and his leg brushed up against her as he sat. He could smell her perfume, and he felt his blood race. It was getting hard to think clearly.

  She tucked one leg under the other, and turned and faced him. She sat there, smiling, staring into his eyes, and he wondered for the millionth time if this was all a dream, if one of his friends was setting him up for a prank.

  “So,” she said. “Tell me about you.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Are you from here?”

  Sam thought how to answer that one. It wasn’t easy.

  “No, not really. But I guess you could say I am, since I’ve lived here more than just about anywhere. We moved around a lot. My family. Well me, my sister, and my mom.”

  “What about your dad?” she asked immediately.

  Sam shrugged.

  “He was never around. They said he moved out when I was young. I don’t really remember.”

  “Haven’t you tried to track him down?”

  Sam looked into her eyes, and wondered if she was able to read his mind.

  “It’s funny you should ask,” he said, “because I actually have been trying. I’ve always wanted to know. But I never found anything. Until last week.”

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise. Sam was surprised by how excited she looked. He couldn’t really understand it. Why would she care?

  “Really?” she asked. “Where is he?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, but we’ve been talking on Facebook. He says he wants to see me.”

 
; “So? Why don’t you see him?”

  “I want to. It just has all gone down so fast. I guess I just need to make a plan.”

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked, smiling.

  Sam thought. She was right. What was he waiting for?

  “Why don’t you write him back? Make a plan to see him? You know, if you don’t set a plan, things never happen. If it were me, I’d message him right now,” she said.

  Sam looked into her eyes, and as he did, he felt his thoughts shifting. Everything she said made so much sense. It was weird: he almost felt like every time she said something, the thought became his. She was right. He shouldn’t wait.

  He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and logged onto Facebook.

  As he did, she cuddled up next to him, leaned her shoulder into his, and looked at his phone with him. His heart started racing. He loved the feeling of her shoulder touching his. It was so soft, and fit perfectly. He could smell her hair, and it was overwhelming. He was getting really distracted.

  He had forgotten, for a second, why he had taken out his phone.

  Then he saw the new message light, and opened it.

  There it was. Another new message from him.

  It read: Sam, I would love to see you. We do need to get together. I know that you are busy in school and all, but what does your schedule look like? It’s hard for me to travel, because of my bad leg, but I’m wondering if you could come up here and visit me? I live in Connecticut.

  Samantha smiled. “There you go,” she said.

  “What should I say?” Sam asked.

  “Say yes. Tomorrow’s Saturday. It’s the weekend. What better time?”

  She was right. Saturday was the best day. Wow. This girl was not only really hot, she was really smart.

  Sam typed back: OK. Sounds good. How about this weekend? What’s your address?

  He hesitated for a second. Then he clicked send. He already felt better.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Samantha said, smiling. “Wow, it’s so cool that I could meet you at such an exciting time.”

  Sam suddenly felt her smooth fingers reach out and stroke his face, then slowly run through his hair. The feeling was intense. Amazing. His heart was slamming, and he could barely think.

  He turned and looked at her, and saw that she was facing him, both of her hands now, caressing his face, his neck, his hair. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from her large, glowing green eyes. He could hardly breathe.

  “I really like you,” she said.

  Sam opened his mouth to speak, but it was too dry. It took him a couple of tries. “I really like you, too.”

  He knew he should lean in for a kiss, but he was too nervous. He was relieved when she leaned in, and planted her lips on his.

  It was amazing. The blood rushed to his brain, and he prayed this would never end.

  NINE

  As Caitlin flew with Caleb, arms wrapped around him, loving the feel of his body, she thought of how lucky she was. Just the day before, she’d been worried that Caleb would say goodbye. And now, for once, her luck had changed.

  Thank God for that necklace, she thought.

  It was late afternoon by the time they arrived in Salem. He set them down inconspicuously in an empty field on the outskirts of town, so no one would notice.

  They walked a few blocks, and arrived right on the Main Street of Salem.

  Caitlin was surprised. She had expected something more. She’d heard about Salem her whole life, from textbooks mostly, always in connection with the witches. But to see it as a real, living place, as an everyday town, she found quite strange. She had imagined it as a perfectly preserved, historic place in her head, almost like a stage set. To see normal, modern, everyday people living their lives, driving, hurrying to and fro, caught her off guard.

  Salem looked almost like any small, New England, suburban town. There were a few chain stores, the typical pharmacies, everything modern, and almost no sign that this town had so much history. The town was also a lot bigger than she had imagined. She had absolutely no idea where to even begin to look for her Dad.

  Caleb must’ve been thinking the same thing at the same time, because he looked over at her with an expression: what now?

  “Well,” she began, “I guess we didn’t expect him to be standing on Main Street and waiting to give us a big hug.”

  Caleb smiled.

  “No, I didn’t think it would be that easy, either.”

  “So? Now what?” she asked.

  Caleb looked at her. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

  Caitlin stood there, thinking. Several people passed them on the street, and some of them gave Caitlin and Caleb a strange look. She looked at them in the reflection of a store window, and realized that they were a startling couple. They were anything but inconspicuous. He was so tall, and dressed elegantly in all black. He look like a movie star, plopped down in the middle of the street. Standing next to him, she felt more average than ever.

  “Maybe we should start with the obvious?” she asked. “My last name. Paine. If my Dad still lives here, maybe he’s listed.”

  Caleb smiled. “You think he’d make his number public?”

  “I doubt it. But sometimes the most obvious answers are the best ones. Anyway, can’t hurt to try. You’ve any other ideas?”

  Caleb stood there, staring. Finally, he shook his head.

  “Let’s do it,” she said.

  For the millionth time, she wished she still had her cell. Instead, she looked around and spotted an Internet café across the street.

  Caitlin had typed every variation on “Paine” she could think, and still, there were no results. She was annoyed. They had searched every possible residential and business listing in Salem. They had tried Paine and Payne and Pain and Paiyne. Nothing. Not one single person.

  Caleb was right: it was a silly idea. If her father did live here, he wasn’t going to make his number public. And she had a feeling, given the mysterious clues so far, that he would never make it that easy on them anyway.

  Sighing, she turned to Caleb.

  “You were right. A waste of time.”

  “The rose and the thorn meet in Salem,” Caleb said slowly, again and again.

  She could see him thinking.

  She had been repeating the phrase in her mind, too, and it felt good to hear it out loud. She had been turning it over and over, but still had no idea what it meant. A rose? A thorn?

  “Maybe there’s a rose garden somewhere?” she said, thinking out loud. “And maybe there’s some sort of clue hidden underneath it?” she said. “Or maybe it’s the name of a place?” she added.

  “Maybe there’s a bar, or an old inn, called the Rose and the Thorn?”

  Caitlin turned back to the computer, and tried several variations of the search. She tried just rose.

  Then just thorn. Then rose and thorn. Businesses establishments. Parks. Gardens.

  No results.

  Annoyed, she finally reached over and shut the system down.

  They both sat in silence for several minutes, thinking.

  “Maybe we’re thinking about this the wrong way,” Caleb suddenly said.

  She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’ve been looking for a living person,” he said, “in today’s world. In this century. But vampires have lived for thousands of years. When one vampire says to another, come meet me, he doesn’t always mean in this century. Vampires think in centuries, not years. It could be that your father is not here now. But that he was. A very long time ago. It could be that we shouldn’t be searching for a living person. But one who lived here at some point. And maybe even died here.”

  Caitlin stared at him, not really understanding.

  “Died? What are you saying? My father is dead?”

  “It’s hard for me to explain this to you, but you need to think about this differently. Vampires live through many incarnations. Many of us have gravestones, ev
en though we are living today. I myself, under different names, am buried in many cemeteries in many countries. Obviously I am not really dead, or buried. But at the time, the locals needed to be assured that I was. We had to stop the evidence, reassure them that I wasn’t coming back to life. And a burial and a tombstone was the only thing that would put them at ease.

  “The vampire race does not like to leave trails, and we do not like it when humans know that we have come back. It brings too much unwanted attention. So, sometimes, when there is no other choice, we let them bury us. And then we sneak out, quietly, in the middle of the night, and move on.”

  He turned and looked at her.

  “It could be that your father was buried here. Maybe we shouldn’t be searching above ground, but below it. We have checked the living Paines. But we have not checked the dead ones.”

  Caitlin was taken aback as they walked in the small graveyard, her mind still reeling. She had never been in a place this old before. When they had entered, a large sign had read “The Burying Point, 1637.” She marveled at the fact that people had been coming here for almost 400 years. More than that, she marveled that there were a few tourists wandering the cemetery right now.

  She had assumed they would have been the only ones here. But after all, this was Salem. And this cemetery was an attraction. People seemed to come here and treat it as a museum. In fact, she noticed that there was an actual museum adjacent to the burial plots. It didn’t feel right to her. She felt that this place should have been more sacred.

  The cemetery was small and intimate, the size of someone’s backyard. A cobblestone path twisted and turned its way throughout the place, and as she strolled, she marveled at how old the tombstones were, at their strange fonts, worn away with age. It was English, but it was so old, and so quaint, it almost read like a different language.