The Power

by Cynthia Roberts

  Jack did his best to concentrate, but Lillian Saint Rose’s beautiful face kept popping into his mind. While he tried to read over the case files the words from the note she had left him at the coffee house trailed across his mind, “Call me if you ever get over your phobia.”

  Jack’s pen began to tap relentlessly. Phobia? Was he a snob? So the woman came from money? What should that matter? Why did it matter? Jack’s frown intensified. When he looked up, Tony’s dark gaze was narrowed on him suspiciously.

  “Sorry.” Jack grinned sheepishly.

  “Uh huh. Who is she? Is she hot? Tony pried.

  “She?” Jack cocked a brow curiously.

  “The girl you’ve been thinking on?” Tony’s Bronx accent dripped out.

  “Oh.” Jack mused. “Incredibly hot.” he breathed out. “But it’s more than that. I don’t know.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I can’t stop thinking about her.” he confessed.

  “Should I call the church?” Tony joked.

  “Ha. Ha.” Jack threw his pen at the guy, and Tony skillfully caught it mid-air.

  “Nine to five, man. Work the case nine to five. Think on the hot girl later.” Tony glanced at the plain-faced, round clock on the wall behind Jack’s blonde head. Jack looked back at the clock as well. It was nearing on four-thirty.

  “Right.” Jack breathed out. “Like we ever punch a time clock.” No, there was no time clock in this line of business, he thought. A cop lived and breathed his work. It was never done, never over, and even if they did manage to solve a case, there were always six hundred or more to take up after.

  “You want to go grab a burger? I’m starved.” Jack stood to his tall height, shrugging into his jacket, and watched as Tony, a slightly bigger man, did the same.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to knock off early, surprise my wife. If you need me, you got my number.” Tony whipped on his jacket, a sleek, black leather coat, and nodded his farewells to Jack. Jack returned the sentiment.

  Sitting in the front seat of his car with his cell in his hand, Jack stared at the seven numbers he had already punched into the phone. All that was left to do now was to push the call button, he thought, feeling like a nervous teenager with his first crush. Did he really want to do that, he asked himself? Sure Lillian Saint Rose was an incredibly beautiful woman, but he was up to his neck in work. The families of the victims and Jack’s supervisors were on his back to wrap this case up, and quick, but these things took time, Jack reminded himself. It wouldn’t be a quick solve by any means. Sometimes cases took months or even tens of years, and worse yet, some cases went unsolved. There was nothing worse than giving up on something you had put your blood, sweat, and tears into for weeks, months, or even years, but Jack had been forced to do just that on more than one occasion. The sad reality of life was sometimes heartbreaking.

  So, what would dinner with a sexy woman hurt? A few hours of escape from the blood and the gore, from the constant racking of his brain, and the interviewing of would-be witnesses just might do him some good, Jack reasoned. Then maybe, he could look at things with a fresh eye in the morning?

  Jack stared at the phone number he had memorized from Lilly‘s note. What did a woman like Lillian Saint Rose want with a man like him anyway? Hell! Even her name sounded fancy!

  “What am I doing?” Jack asked himself out loud, but he punched the call button all the same. Bringing the phone to his ear, he waited as it rang the line three times.

  “You’ve reached the Saint Rose residence. How may I be of service?” an elderly gentleman asked in an English accent. Great! A damned butler? “Hello?” The man called when Jack still hadn’t said a word. Jack cleared his throat.

  “I was looking for Lillian?” He asked in a clumsy voice that he wanted to smack himself for.

  “Ah. Miss Lillian isn’t in at the moment, sir. Would you like to leave a message?” The elderly man offered.

  “Uh, no…no, thank you. I’ll just try back later.” Jack replied, at the same time thinking, “Yeah right! That’s going to happen!” He was clearly in over his head here. It would be better to swim to the shallow end while he still had the chance!

  “As you wish, sir. Could I at least give her a name?” The butler asked.

  “Jack Stone.” Jack mumbled, and he ended the call. Well if that didn’t make him look like an idiot to Lillian, he didn’t know what would! Damn it! “Forget her, Jack.” he hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, and then he turned the key in the ignition, and drove out into the street.

  “You’ve had a telephone call.” Reginald announced upon Lillian’s waking that evening after the sun had set.

  “A call?” she asked, shrugging into her cloak.

  “Yes. A Mr. Jack Stone? He didn’t leave a message.” Reginald replied absently, but Lillian could hear Reginald’s nosy thoughts. He was wondering who this Jack Stone was and why he was calling Lillian. Sometimes, Reginald behaved like an overprotective father, Lillian thought as she turned to meet his curious gaze. Reginald wouldn’t be around much longer. He was old and slowly dying, she thought with regret. She had come to count on Reginald always being there. She couldn’t phantom the time when he no longer would be.

  “I’m sure it was not important then.” she said, and she turned to leave. Josh and Troy met her at the door, looking purposeful. “And where do you think you’re going?” Lillian asked of them.

  “Consider us your bodyguards for this evening.” Troy smiled arrogantly.

  “Bodyguards?” Lillian looked back over her shoulder at Reginald accusingly. She didn’t have to read his mind. He looked guilty as hell.

  “I thought it appropriate after you told us of the other in the vicinity.” Reginald explained.

  “So, what? I bring along these two as what? A sacrificial meal?” she was being purposely grotesque, but she saw no other way to get through to Reginald or his grandsons about the danger that lurked out there in the dark! Lillian heard Josh swallow uncomfortably. “We all know if I take your grandsons with me, it will be I guarding them and not the other way around. They are safer here. I will call if I am in need of help.” Lillian stepped forward, and Josh and Troy stepped to block her path. A flash of white echoed in her eyes, and Josh sucked in his breath.

  “I won’t be gone long. I’ve no need to hunt this night.” She told them firmly.

  “Then why go out at all? We could play a game of cards?” Reginald called from behind her.

  “I will not be caged!” Lillian hissed, and Reginald blew out his breath regretfully. He waved his grandsons aside. “I’ve been with you for sixty-seven years, My Lady. You can not expect me not to worry for your safety.”

  “No. I suppose not.” Lillian replied softly without turning to face the old man. “But perhaps you could trust in my ability to take care of myself.” That said, she walked out the door.

  The art museum was open for only another hour. Lillian would go there to be alone with her thoughts as she had many times in the past. Staring at the breathtaking landscapes and portraits, Lillian began to lose herself in the canvases beyond the many colors and brush strokes.

  “Good evening, Miss. Saint Rose.” Barker, a regular custodian on this night greeted Lillian as he pushed out a bucket and mop. It was nearing on closing time, but Barker had allowed her to stay over many times in the past. It was well known that Lillian Saint Rose was one of the main financial contributors to the museum. It was lesser known that a few of Lillian’s great, great, great grandmother’s paintings adorned the walls within. Lillian greeted the friendly fellow absently, before turning back to the paintings. Her light blue gaze turned to the left and her feet soon followed. A framed oil painting, a portrait of a handsome, regal gentleman with spectacular green eyes seemed to stare at Lillian from inside the canvas. Lillian came closer. Her hands at her sides, she stared into the suave, handsome face of the devil himself, or so he had seemed to Lillian all of those years ago: Lord Ewan Derringer. What had become of him,
she wondered for not the first time? The last Lillian had seen of the vampire had been on a ship bound for America. She and Gina had barely escaped him. They would not have if Gina had not come up with the plan to free them.

  It had been so long ago, and yet Lillian could still recall that time as if it had been yesterday. She had become enraptured with the vampire, Ewan, from the first moment she had set eyes on him. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that the feeling was mutual. Gina, her dark mother, had tried to warn Lillian that Ewan was obsessed, that he longed to possess Lillian so that he might toy with her like a cat would a mouse. But Lillian had thought herself in love with Ewan and she hadn’t heeded Gina’s advice. And then it was too late. By the time Lillian had discovered Ewan’s true character, he would not let her go! Others had died due to her blindness, Lillian thought with regret. Someone who had tried to help her, to save her had perished.

  Lillian turned away from the portrait. She longed to tear it from the wall, and shred it to pieces, but it wasn’t the painting that made her feel such rage. It was the vampire within it, and the horrid memories of what he had done!

  Chapter seven

  Dr. Nicole Harold poured herself a cup of tea, and tucked her feet beneath her on the living room sofa inside her apartment. Absently, she stroked the head of Mr. Freckles, her housecat. Mr. Freckles leaned into her hand and stroked the entire length of his long, large back against the tenderness of Nicole’s hand. Mr. Freckles got his name because he was a white, long-haired cat, with multi-colored, tiny freckle-like patterns down his back. The cat meowed for attention, but Nicole’s mind was elsewhere. She was thinking on Rita Gallenger, the woman, or rather the body, that had disappeared from the morgue last week. The tape from the camera at the front door hadn’t shown anyone coming or going other than Nicole herself, Tom, a portly security guard, and Detective Jack Stone. Nicole rolled her eyes at that one.

  “Some detective! He wouldn’t know a murderer if he was standing in the middle of a crime scene with a man dead on the ground and another standing over him, knife in hand, blood all over him, screaming, “I’m the murderer!” She voiced the resentment out loud and Mr. Freckles stopped to stare at her for half a second before he meowed for more attention.

  Nicole’s blue gaze fell to the coffee table at her feet. On it set a familiar, leather-bound journal. It was very old and worn and she practically knew every page by heart. Yes, Lillian Saint Rose was becoming an old familiar friend to her.

  Nicole scooped up the journal, and thumbed through the contents. The writing was beautiful, the ink smudged here and there, faded in places, but Nicole knew every word, every line. She had read the pages too many times to count. Yet, she found herself drawn to the journal yet again this evening. As her eyes lit on the pages, she began to read where she had last left off.

  “Gina Giovani stayed in a massive house in the nearby country. The house was large, made of gray stones, white pillars, large columns, and sweeping balconies. The front doors were made of oak and the massive windows were of colored glass. I had been there once before, I realized. As a child, Gail and I had played in the drying, dead shrubbery. It had been the perfect, little hide-n-seek place, and we had run together, had laughed as we had chased each other through the unkempt yard and overgrown trees. No one had lived there at the time, and we had suspected that the home had been deserted. It had been in such ill-repair. The house looked very much lived in now, I thought, swallowing uncomfortably. Clean as a whistle, the house shone softly in the moonlight. It was surrounded by green, well manicured lawns, and well-trimmed oaks and cherry trees lined the drive. A lush garden grew near the rear of the house with every color of flower imaginable in full bloom and there to catch my curious eyes. I had thought that I heard Gina’s voice in my head, had thought that I had heard her calling to me, telling me which way it was that I should go, but how was I to know if this massive, beautiful home even belonged to the beautiful vampire? My brows furrowed in confusion. I had nowhere else to go, and I knew that if I did not find a place to hide against the soon-to-be rising sun then I would surely perish.

  “Frightened and alone, I stood there staring wantonly at those double doors and yes, praying, that Gina, my dark mother, would see fit to allow me within her protection. I had been unkind to her though. She had given me a precious gift, the gift of immortality, and I had slung hurtful words and accusations at her head. What if she no longer meant to help me? What if I were to find myself suddenly, all alone in this world? But then I saw the front door opening in slow ease. A man of medium height and build stepped out onto the massive stone, front steps and peered out into the moonlight. I could hear his heart beating even from fifty feet away where I hid behind the trunk of a great oak tree. I could also see his face clearly. His head was completely bald on top, but silvery wings of hair, looking much like a bird in flight curved wildly upwards at both sides of his head. Two silvery caterpillars seemed to be crawling to meet each other above his small, black eyes. His nose was large on his face, and his lips a thin, straight line and surrounded by an evening beard that had not yet surrendered to the dominating silver. He was dressed in evening attire with white gloves covering his small, lithe hands. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t very old either. There was a deep crease across his lightly tanned forehead, fine lines at the corners of those small, black eyes, and I could see that within those eyes laid the wisdom that only came from living life, from age. I guessed his age to be close to fifty, but he was still yet an attractive man, if not a big one. Why had he come outside into the dark? What was he searching for with those black eyes that scanned the yard and even seemed to search the treetops.

  ““Miss Lillian.” he called suddenly in a loud whispered voice, and I jumped at the sound of his deep, baritone voice. He was calling to me, I thought in sudden alarm. “Miss Lillian!” he called louder this time. “Please, Miss, come inside where it is warm. Miss Giovani will rise soon. She will want to speak with you.” he insisted. I hesitated, but only for a moment. They had known that I would come. Yet, this man was human. I could still hear the beat of his heart, playing softly to the soft music in my head. Sliding from around the coarse bark of the tree, I let my presence be known and slowly I crept toward the porch on silent feet. His black eyes saw me as soon as I came from my hiding place and a quick smile lit his face. He held his white gloved hand out to me as I neared the porch, and carefully I placed my hand within his. He did not flinch at the blood that even I could see staining my nails. Instead, he continued on with his warm, welcoming smile, and he led me within the spacious foyer. I stood upon a marbleized floor, and glanced around at the lavender silk draping the walls. High-backed, burgundy sofas lined the walls, offering guests a place to sit and wait for the hostess, I presumed.

  ““Good evening, Miss Lillian.” The man greeted, and he bowed regally before me. “My

  name is Jeffery Pramble. I serve the Lady Giovani, and I would consider myself honored to serve you as well, My Lady.” he gave me an even smile. “Is there anything that you need or desire as you wait?” he motioned toward one of the sofas, and I swallowed slowly, uncomfortably. I shook my head, and he nodded with a smile.

  ““It shouldn’t be long.” he assured me, and then bowing once more, he left me there in the foyer.

  “The time spent there in Gina’s beautiful foyer, was just enough time for my mind to wander, for me to worry and stress over what would happen to me after this night. Would Gina send me out on my own? Would I die? No, I reminded myself. I was already dead and now, now I was a murderer as well. Oh God! I had killed Widow Winters! The thought came at me like a punch to the chest, and I fell to sit upon the sofa trapped deep within my woes. As I was sitting there, I began to feel very tired. My body became lax, and I seemed to sink into the soft cushions of the sofa. No greater comfort was ever known, and it pulled me into a deep sleep, one where I did not dream, and a great amount of time passed in the blinking of an eye.

  “It was to this picture that
the vampire Gina found me. She swept into the room so quietly that I did not hear her upon my wakening. Thoughts of the night before instantly haunted me, and I was filled with regret. One second I was alone and miserable, and the next, I look up at the tall, beautiful vampire standing there staring at me with her very blue eyes.

  ““You’re covered in blood.” she mentioned, and I looked down at myself. My pale dress was splattered with the deep red liquid as were my arms, hands, and probably even my face. Yes. I had killed someone, I thought miserably. I had taken the life of my aunt in the most animalistic way I could think of. I could still taste her blood on my lips. I could still feel the warm liquid heating my insides. “Did anyone see you make the kill?” Gina asked, stepping into the room further. I thought of Lady Willis, who had come into the dinning room after I had done away with her mother, and then the servants and guards who had followed. They had not seen me commit the crime, but they had seen my eyes afterward. They had seen me make that impossible jump through the third story window, and magically land like a cat on my feet below. Oh God! What had I done? What had I done!