“Thank you,” I said, as I considered the newly discovered depth of her service, “For everything.” I gave her a hug and opened the door for Samantha, who breezed past leaving a chilly wake.
Sam rambled down the stairway, her heels clicking sharply. Not waiting, she shot straight for the lobby door and out to the curb, without a word.
I followed her out. “Are you all right?”
“Give me a few minutes. I thought I was about to throw up just now.”
“I hope it wasn’t the food.”
“No, it was more like seeing your mom, who I resemble more than my own. This is a little too creepy. You will have to forgive me if I sleep in the other bedroom tonight, I mean tomorrow … day. Damn, I need to talk to my mom, like now.” Sam scrambled through her purse for her cell phone.
I grabbed Sam’s arm, “Sweetheart, it is twelve thirty.”
“One, please refrain from calling me sweetheart for at least ten minutes. At this exact moment, it might be highly inappropriate,” Sam said in excited tones as she dialed. “Two, my parents are in San Francisco this week, so it is only nine thirty there. Three, that little mom joke was just sick. I mean really sick. I hope you know you are sleeping back in the bathtub tonight.”
Sam held up her index finger giving me the mandatory shut your pie-hole cue. “Mom,” she began. “I am fine.”
Sam’s eyes blazed.
“I just need to know something,” Sam continued. “This is very, very important. You and dad, and all of my grandparents were all born in this country, right?” She waited for the answer. “As far as you know, is any of our family from Romania, or Hungary?” Again there was a pause. “It is a long story. I would rather tell you in person.” Samantha’s expression and posture eased slightly. “And one last thing, and you have to tell me the truth. Was I adopted?”
CHAPTER NINE
THREE MONTHS PASSED without any trace of Angelique, Celine, Gabrielle or Sabine. I had made two trips back to New Orleans in an attempt to pick up their trail. Returning to the Crescent City, all of the misery of my creation was replaced by some bizarre heartfelt homecoming. Born to the undead, my soul pined for the spirits who refused eternal rest. In all of its grandeur, New Orleans resurrected a spirit within I had allowed to be stripped away.
Between my crew in New Orleans and New York, we combed through piles of insignificant reports, new stories and web postings. If the remaining vampires were leaving victims in their wake, they were cautiously disposing the evidence. Nightly, I gazed over FBI and state police reports for missing persons and peculiar murders to no avail. It was as if they had vanished from the country. If she was still unaware of my father’s death, Angelique had every reason to return to the homeland. If she had gone, quite possibly the others returned with her.
Back in New York, Samantha had taken both to the Manhattan lifestyle, and living her life predominately in the afterhours. She had told Dee, and then her parents, about the engagement, minus one major detail, namely, the Prince of Romanian darkness stuff. I was to meet her parents later this month, a meeting I had put off as long as possible. It was our intention to tell them about me now, as opposed to lie, and have them find out later.
Although her relationship with Phillip had turned serious, Dee seemed a little touchy over my relationship with Sam. Maybe it was the anti-aging thing, or the whole royalty deal, but whatever the case, something was amiss. Phillip, over the long distance relationship, convinced Dee to quit her job a month ago and move to New York, and spoiled her at every opportunity. Although he would not admit it, a proposal was in the air.
Most days Sam snuggled as we slept the day away peacefully. Admittedly, I missed her California tan as it faded into paleness. As she bemoaned her lost golden color, I kept reminding her it was better for her skin, and overall health. She kept reminding me if I would just go ahead and bite her, health would never be an issue ever again.
The CIA, now aware of my ability to hack into their systems, stood vigil against my intrusions. Continually I eluded their firewalls, but they were getting adept at detecting and shutting down my access portals. Any chatter about the agent assigned to terminate me was not on the CIA grid, so the possibility existed the director had taken care of the issue after I threatened his life, and exposing the agency’s darker side. The alternate possibility: they did not give a crap and the hit was still on.
Hacking into Walsh’s home PC, searching for signs of pertinent files, I found traces of military encrypted files, but they had been cleansed to the point of useless data trails. On a continuing basis, I continued to swap data within my files, delete photos, and continued to be a major nuisance to anyone involved with my case. Stealthily and painstakingly, I was collecting the sources of their back-up files. Once I was satisfied I had them all, I would send one final kill command to forever delete all records of my existence.
Although my body no longer required traditional nourishment, tonight, as accustomed, I accompanied Sam to explore the endless cuisines New York offered. The hunger I did experience did not compare to mortal hunger, but was more like having your supply of oxygen extinguished. When the hunger arose, I had to feed just as humans must breathe. One particular night while in Brooklyn, feeling as I was closing in on the scent of another such as me, the hunger became overwhelming. Too far from home on unfamiliar turf, my choices were limited; a human or the rat that scurried by. What the hell, why not? The difference between human and animal blood could be described as the difference between the best fire-grilled filet mignon and eating a month old moldy spam sandwich. Needless to say, my desperation level would have to be critical before doing that ever again. Acquiring human blood was not an issue. I had sources for my home supply and had no problem slipping in and out of hospitals, blood banks and morgues when traveling about the city.
Upon returning home from a dinner, Sam and I were greeted by the flashing light of my computer. Only the second occasion Sam had witnessed the beacon, she knew it required immediate attention.
“It’s Mitch,” I announced to Sam, as I studied the encrypted message. Back in New Orleans, logging countless hours off the clock, O’Reilly continued his diligence to locate the missing vampires. I dialed up his number from a special cell phone just for this purpose.
“Mitch, it has been a while.”
“Yes, it has. Our coroner received a broad based request today, for information for COD’s with remarkable blood loss, secondary to puncture wounds. Obviously they have a stiff of interest in Miami.”
“Thanks Mitch, I will look into it and get back to you.” Mitch understood the importance of keeping conversations brief and to the point. After I hung up, the image of Rob raced through my head. Punctured and bloodless.
The memory of his brutal death still stung bitterly. Finally, after months, a lead. Would it be Angelique, Sabine, Celine or Gabrielle, or possibly all of them together? It was entirely conceivable that another, perhaps one created by the others could be responsible. Whatever the case, immediate response was required.
“I need to go, tonight.” Sam winced, knowing this day would come, as she watched me dial the phone. She also knew there was no way in hell she could tag along either. She waited anxiously for the opportunity to hear my plans.
“Phillip. I need the jet. Now!” There was no discussion on the other end. We had discussed this day in depth, on numerous occasions. He understood the potential mass casualties these women were capable of, and more so, understood his responsibility. “Miami. I need you to get me an apartment, with a walk-in closet, preferably in a room with no windows, and a car, tonight. Or you can rent a house, it does not matter. Have the agent have a key waiting at the airport.”
Sam watched eagerly as I listened to Phillip’s response. “Thanks, Phillip, let’s hope this will be the end of this.” I hung up and turned to Sam, who was not attempting to conceal her disappointment.
“I know we have talked about this, but …”
“No,” I said abruptly.
“You are not going anywhere near any vampires, other than yours truly.” I walked briskly to the closet, and pulled out a pre-packed suitcase.
“Do you have a half an hour or so, before you leave?”
“Not if you want me to be off the streets before sunrise.”
“I am sorry, I knew this would happen eventually. But it does not make any easier for me to watch you leave. Look what happened last time I left you alone.”
“Things are different now. I have no need for stakes, crosses, or holy water. There is nothing for me to fear.”
“Twenty minutes?” Sam asked as she blocked my path to the door.
“Damn, woman.”
“Well, we don’t know when you will be back, do we? Is there anything wrong with one for the road?” Sam shifted into the role of the great seducer once again.
“No, as long as I am out of here by eleven,” I said with a pronounced sigh.
“It is not like it is my fault anyway. You know the saying: ‘An evening without Vlad makes a woman go mad.’”
I looked at Sam, who was trying her best not to smile. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”
“Thirty seconds.” Sam grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me toward the bedroom. “Come on lover boy, you’re on my time now.”
The flight down afforded me time to catch up on old business. “Paul, time to wake up.”
“What the hell?” The groggy voice on the other end was not unaccustomed to getting calls at three in the morning. His tone dictated; it was definitely not appreciated.
“You are still looking for me. I asked you not to.”
“Nick? Have you completely lost your mind? You’ve dug yourself in deep, buddy. Hacking the agency’s computer system whenever you feel the need? The IT department is all over you now, and they are not going to let you go. You pissed off the wrong geeks this time.”
“I know; I see everything they are doing. But I am not going to stay out until I am sure every last one of them gets the hell out of my business. I have been retired for over twenty years without incident. It’s time for you to make me a ghost Paul.”
“Nick, I can’t …”
“Paul,” I interrupted, “I know what you can and cannot do. Make it happen before it gets ugly.” I hung up the phone.
Testing my computer skills against the agency’s best, and winning, was giving me a massive boner. I had gained access to the agency’s network, and offsite back-up servers, as well as identified numerous flash drives containing my files. My kill virus was already written, and in just a few more weeks I would download it to the main CIA server. On the prescribed execution date, any system containing my files would be identified as a trojan. As soon as preventive measures were taken to quarantine the virus, my files would basically self-destruct. I was hoping this would finally bring an end to my association with Uncle Sam.
Thanks to Sam, I cut my departure a little too tight. As a result, upon arriving in Miami, the first light of day was breaking as the driver wheeled into the apartment complex Phillip had provided. Fully furnished and containing the few amenities I had requested only hours earlier, all of the shades were drawn in anticipation of my pre-dawn arrival. The interior bedroom had no windows, a walk-in closet and to my delight, a new mattress already trimmed with satin linens. Sam must have called Phillip after I left and made the arrangements. Thankfully, I would not be sleeping on the closet floor or in a bathtub tonight.
At the risk of seeming ungrateful, with nobody watching, I smiled broadly at my life. In truth, I was disappointed; my plans of eventually graduating to a bed had not come to pass, leaving me a nocturnal slumber dysfunctional.
One of my many peculiarities throughout my mortal life was that I never required more than two or three hours of sleep. Now immortal and all-powerful, I could not seem to function with less than six to seven hours in a confined space. Any lesser amount resulted in diminished capacities of my powers and survival instinct.
Shortly after sunset, I awoke to the sensation of lips, warm, sumptuous lips, lightly brushing my ear. First, a moist tongue, then the nibble of teeth on my earlobe. I groaned as her hand explored below my waist. Her lips traveled down my neck, with light delicate kisses, exploring my chest, then lower, my abdomen tensed to the sensation. My body arched in pleasure. Did I not tell you we would be together again? The words whispered in a sultry French accent chilled my ear.
“Angelique?”
I shot up, throwing my hands about defensively, punching nothing but air. I leapt from the mattress and flipped on the light. No rose, no Angelique … just one hell of a boner. “Asshole,” I barked at myself. “That is what you get for sleeping in. From now on, I am setting the alarm.” I was not sure how concerned I should be about my dream. With no rose at the crime scene, I was relatively certain it was just a dream. But damn. Why was I dream-humping the woman I was here to kill?
It had been about five years or so since my last visit to Miami. All of the amenities that endeared the city to me had lost their luster. Great food, emerald green waters, sandy white beaches, and multitudes of hot single women no longer provided the same motivation. Being home to a vast population of illegal immigrants, Miami made for an inviting playground for my AWOL bloodsucking kin. Although it was probably pure futility, nevertheless, I held to a glimmer of hope my girls had yet to create more of their kind … our kind.
Mitch had offered to travel to Miami to follow up on a lead, but I settled for all his intel by email instead. Our first break, a homeless man in the psych ward at Jackson Memorial, who was rather insistent on a diet of blood. On several occasions since his admission a week ago, he attempted to bite nurses, doctors, and even a janitor. True, it was not an earth-shaking break in the case, but after almost three months of nothing, a lunatic in the psych ward was the only place to start.
Before I left the apartment, I made a final check of the phase one CIA software bug. It was ready for the test. I would be running all over Miami, a town littered with security cameras. If it did not work, they would be on my ass in a matter of hours, if not minutes. I pressed the execute button, and watched as the progress bar uploaded the encrypted files, not directly to the CIA mainframe, but through Walsh’s home PC. As soon as Walsh logged in, in the morning, bam, anyone who looked at my file would think Brad Pitt and I were twins. I regretted nobody would ever appreciate the pure genius behind a bug so complex, yet simple. When the full virus deployed in two weeks, after purging all hard drives of my life, the bug would literally eat itself.
An hour later I arrived at Jackson Memorial and studied the intel on my phone. Pierre Dupont. In a predominately Hispanic town, they managed to find the one French guy. Go figure. As Mr. Dupont was not a person of suspicion, hospital security was relatively lax. I signed in as a family visitor at the front desk, and was allowed to go straight to his room. I checked in at the nursing station, where the young nurse went to excessive lengths to explain why my uncle was restrained and sedated.
Upon light interrogation, I found out that “Uncle Dupont” had been visited by his niece, Celine Dupont, twice since his admission, the last visit being two nights ago. Even though a remote possibility existed this was the wrong Celine, I was generally jacked-up, not being one to believe in coincidence, and knowing the chase was back on. If she was following a feeding pattern, perhaps in an attempt to merely control his willpower, then it would be highly likely she would return within the next three nights. If I was unable to locate her before her suspected return to the hospital, then this would be a golden opportunity to nail her in just a few days. I politely thanked the nurse; left my cell number and some seed money to ensure a call, should my cousin return.
Through the heavily sanitized funk of the hospital, I perceived a trace of familiarity. Even though her visit was two nights ago, all doubts were instantly vanquished. Celine had been here. Entering Pierre’s room, I found him fully restrained and unconscious.
“Pierre, didn’t you learn anything in sch
ool? Bite a nurse and look what you get.” Scanning his neck for any sign of the typical Hollywood bite wounds, I came up empty. On his left wrist, I found a single puncture wound. Celine had become wise in her ways. By carefully angling her bite, she was able to conceal the signature imprint of our race. “Your friend is a smart girl, Pierre.”
I leaned into Pierre’s ear. “Wake up, Pierre.”
Startled, his eyes shot open. “Master,” he winced, as he tugged at his restraints.
“Yes, Pierre, I am here.”
“Why have you left me here?”
“Who told you I was to come? Was it Celine?”
“In my dreams … the shadows. They whisper of …” Pierre’s eyes were glazed and distant as he spoke.
This was an unexpected wrinkle. Was this guy just whacked, or was there truly some all-seeing psychic highway for the undead?
“Has Celine spoke of this?”
“No. Celine is evil. She would hold me in bondage, for all eternity. She does not allow me to cross over, or to pass from the living. She enslaves me, to do her bidding.”
“Have you seen Gabrielle?”
“I know Gabrielle. It was Gabrielle who delivered me to Celine. She claimed to love me. She told me our love would last till the earth ceased to exist. But she lied.” Pierre’s eyes became glossy as he recounted the memory. “Why she chose to leave me, I do not understand.”
Celine’s venom coursed through Pierre’s body to ensure her dominance. But why did Celine take Pierre from Gabrielle? Was it jealousy? Maybe to stake her dominance over Gabrielle. If I knew, perhaps I could use the knowledge as leverage, pitting the two against each other.
“Pierre, these voices that come in your dreams. Tell me about them.”
“I do not know. I cannot see them. The voices come to me in times of my darkest despair. They calm my fears, and give me hope.”
“What fears do you have, Pierre?”
“That I will be left here, forever caged. I thirst for blood, but none is given. I yearn for the Gabrielle’s touch, but instead receive only Celine’s torment. I have begged to die, but the bitch is heartless.”
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