Invierea

by Bruce T. Jones

  “Douche bag, you want to play games, might I suggest zombies next time. This undead thing, not very wise … unless you are.” My eyes went black and as he caught a glimpse of the evil upon him, terror filled his.

  “Go home.” Releasing my grip, he dropped to the floor. “If I ever catch you here again, make sure your organ donor card is filled out.”

  The scent of fear, or maybe it was urine, permeated as they scurried down the stairs, dropping the bags of blood en route. Unsure if they would call the police, I decided to deal with their leftovers and get the hell out of Dodge. Both bags were A positive. Damn. My craving for AB would have to wait until another time.

  There was no time to cry over the spilled blood pooling on the steps. Feeling rather pissed off that a bunch of clowns compromised one of my favorite watering holes, I poured the contents of the first bag down my throat as I pulled the rusty metal door closed behind me.

  Sadly, there was a time not too long ago, I would not have considered ever sharing a beer with any of those fools, let alone blood. But I had to consider; what in the hell would drive an individual to want to be like me? Not solely because of their loathsome need to pretend they are something they are not. Maybe they too shared a lineage that beckoned them beyond reason. Quite possibly, as on other recent occasions, I was wrong. But what about the hygiene issues, damn those guys were just nasty. Draining the second bag, I smiled at the notion; “Nicholas Tepes, King of the Trailer Park Vampires.” At least I didn’t lick the stairs. I clutched the last bag of blood, unopened, unspoiled and guiltless. “If the shoe fits, wear it well,” I mumbled, choosing to finish, rather than save the last bag.

  The imaginary conversation with a beat cop, explaining my pint to-go brought a smile to my face as I looked down Second Avenue. As the night was not quite half over, I considered continuing my search for Sabine, mainly as a means to avoid the inevitable confrontation soon to occur. It was time face the hangman.

  Arriving back to an empty apartment, I took a beer out on the terrace, reclined in the chaise and enjoyed the beauty of the night. Staring out over the Hudson River toward the Bronx, a soothing October breeze blew through my hair. From inside the apartment I heard the laughter of Sam and Gabrielle as they entered.

  Feeling the breeze blow through the apartment, Gabrielle looked to the terrace and smiled. “He’s waiting for you.” After nearly a year, she knew when it was time to excuse herself. After hugging one another Gabrielle made her way down the stairs.

  Sam stood in the terrace doorway, her arms spread as if to block any attempt to escape. The smell of her scent aroused my attention. Turning to lay my eyes upon her, she was every bit as inviting as the first day I laid eyes on her.

  “Should I slip into something more comfortable?”

  “Not tonight, Sam, we need to talk.”

  The guilt-burdened tone instantly triggered a concerned expression as Sam made her way beside me. “What is it, Nick?”

  “I learned things tonight, things I had no suspicion of. Things that may … will change everything.”

  Samantha crossed her arms, her posture suggesting she was bracing for the worst. “Tell me.”

  Samantha had endured many bombshells in our relatively brief love affair. Never once did she falter, but this time I sensed might be the end. “I found Angelique tonight, or to be honest, she found me.”

  The mere mention of Angelique’s name seemed to stagger Samantha. She threw a hand on my shoulder and steadied herself. “Is she dead?”

  “No. No she’s not … It would appear, according to Angelique … while I was in New Orleans, on more than one occasion, she had sex with me.” I swallowed the words with difficulty.

  “I know.” Sam spoke softly, with unexpected assurance.

  Shocked by the revelation I was not sure if I should speak, or just shut up. “I have known for a while.” Appearing not to want to relive the story, Sam gauged my reaction as she sighed. “Do you remember this past summer? That waitress down in SoHo? The one you were being overly flirtatious with?”

  “I remember.” Sam’s cold shoulder for almost a week after the incident was a lesson hardly forgotten.

  “You made me feel so vulnerable. I was upset and mad, so Gabrielle and I went out several nights that week.”

  “I remember that as well.”

  “One of those nights, Gabrielle told me about New Orleans. About Angelique’s boasting of her incantations, and of her conquest. She said, against Angelique, no man stood a chance. Then Gabrielle told me about Miami, how you rejected all of her attempts to seduce you. Gabrielle told me this to unequivocally convince me of your love.”

  “Gabrielle had to convince you?”

  “I know you love me. But thanks to you, I still have all the mortal limitations a woman can ask for. And there are still times when I see you look at other women, and I cannot help but think you are tiring of me.”

  “You know Sam, you have dealt with more bullshit than I ever could have asked for. And I wish that was the full extent of the situation, but it is not.” It was too late to turn back and probably too late to bite her, for all that was to follow to be forgiven. I inhaled deeply.

  “It would appear, when Angelique left New Orleans, she did not leave alone.” Knowing my next breath might be the last before the fall, I savored it. “Angelique was with child … my child.”

  “A baby? Your baby!” Sam’s temperament was impossible to gauge. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I saw him tonight, for the first time.”

  “Stay here, don’t you move. I need a bottle of wine.” Sam got up and headed to the door. Just beyond the threshold, she turned and threw her hands into the air. “Don’t you dare fucking move.”

  Sam turned and made a beeline into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle from the rack and pulled the cork. Inspecting a wine glass in the light, she observed her hand trembling. “This will not do. Not tonight buddy boy!” she grumbled. She opened the cupboard drawer, grabbed a twenty-ounce beer mug and filled it to the top. She gulped the wine until the glass was half empty, then topped it back off. She set the bottle down and began to return to the balcony. Before she had taken two steps, she turned and grabbed the bottle. “This little puppy won’t live to see the sunrise.”

  Returning to the balcony, beer mug in one hand and wine bottle in the other, Samantha chose a chair just out of reach. Refusing to look even close to my direction, she stared out at the city lights.

  “Sam.”

  “Nick. This is what is known as shut up and listen time … again.” Taking another big swallow of wine, without making eye contact she began in a most solemn manner. “For two years, I envisioned a life beyond all of this mess. A day, or night, where all of this crap was behinds us. Maybe a day when we … might start a family. And right or wrong, I let myself be careless, more than once. And nothing happened. Never even one damn day late.” With tears were flowing freely, Sam took another long drink. “So I went to a doctor, and you know what? The bastard had the nerve to tell me I had better chances of being a mother if I adopted.”

  “Sam.” I began to rise, ready to offer as much comfort as I could give.

  “Don’t,” she demanded, raising her hand for me to halt. “I feel so isolated sometimes. Gabrielle and you have this common thread, a bond. And now Angelique. And the one thing I wanted to give you most, I can’t. But she did. I don’t think I can do this. Not anymore.”

  “Sam, I am so sorry.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “You do not have to apologize for anything, anymore. I am not mad with you. You certainly did not set out for this life either. It’s just the way things turned out.

  “Sam,” I said as I reached for her.

  “Please don’t try to rationalize this away. I think we both know …”

  “Okay. My turn,” I interrupted.

  Sam resisted my attempt to remove her wine mug.

  “Please.” She pulled her mug back and cradled it to her chest like a security bl
anket.

  With her hands occupied I turned her face toward mine, but her eyes looked away. “Look at me.”

  Samantha retreated deeper into the chair sensing my will entering her mind. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Then look at me.”

  Begrudgingly she turned her eyes.

  “I know I have told you on many occasions you are the only thing that matters. I will leave this all behind, the city, Phillip, Dee, Gabrielle, Angelique … and even my son. Right now. Say the word and we can leave and go search for that deserted beach. And as long as you are with me, I will never regret it.”

  Sam sat quietly for minutes, searching my eyes, longing for the answer to her angst.

  “I told you not to use that mind-control stuff on me,” she said sheepishly after a prolonged silence. The corner of her lip turned up, as a familiar smile could not be restrained. “Nick, you can’t leave this behind, not yet.”

  “We have to leave. It is the only way for us to survive. Chuck and Jimmy can come and finish my work.”

  “No,” Sam said with determination. “We can’t leave. Not like this. You have to finish this. You can’t just up and leave, not with a son here. I won’t let you. I won’t go.”

  “Sam, it’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not. But I will tell you one thing Nicholas Tepes, you get your ass out there and you find Sabine, and you put an end to this. Because you do owe me one hell of a vacation.”

  She was right. But I owed her more than a vacation, I owed her a wedding.

  “Tomorrow night, I will go back to Angelique, and see if she can give me any other information that will help me find Sabine. I will not rest until she’s been found.”

  “You’re going back to Angelique’s tomorrow night? You are not going anywhere near that woman without me, mister. Besides, I would like to see him.”

  “Brian?”

  “Brian, what a nice name. I used to be crazy about some guy with the same name.”

  I looked at Sam and smiled at her ability to move beyond yet another clusterfuck of mine.

  “What happened with Angelique, you know that’s date rape. The fact you have an heir doesn’t forgive her crime. But, if she can manage to keep her filthy paws off of you, I think we can get through this.”

  A well-timed autumn breeze swirled around the terrace, neutralizing the cool air I forcefully exhaled, feeling once more I had dodged another bullet.

  “Nick, I don’t want to be on the outside looking in anymore. I want us to share everything.”

  “Sam, we have been down this road too many times. I would rather tell you goodbye and never see you again, than to share this curse with you.”

  “You say cursed, I say privileged. Curses are of evil. But you are not evil, Nick. All I have seen from you is good intentions, and good actions. And look what you have done with Gabby. There is not a shred of evil anywhere in her body. And I desperately want to be like her. Then we can truly be one.”

  “Sam, my father believed if there is to be any hope of salvation, it had to be through selfless acts and deeds. If I make you a vampire, it would not be for good, it would be out of a desire to feed my needs. If there is to be any hopes of breaking this curse, I have to do what is right by others, not by me. That is where reconciliation lies.”

  Samantha sipped her wine and looked away. The same answer she had grown to hate was the only one she knew in her heart to be right.

  “I can only think of one thing that might help. And it’s long past due, but it’s something we both wanted not too long ago. I think it’s time we set a date.”

  Sam’s expression perked up. “Are you sure?”

  “I was sure the day I asked you, and nothing has changed since that day.”

  Sam leaned and hugged me tightly. “Are you sure? I know we were going to wait till this was all over.”

  “Yes.” My voice was soft, but my conviction was firm.

  “Well so much for angry make-up sex.”

  “Is it too late to try to piss you off again?”

  “Say Angelique’s name one more time tonight, and you might. On the other hand, after Gabby and I pull a vampire on your bank account and suck the cash out of it on this wedding, you may be just a teensy weansy bit upset.” Sam playfully smacked my cheek softly, got up and ran into the apartment. “Better get busy Count, the way I see it, you’re gonna need to live forever just to pay for this wedding.”

  “Oh I am about to get busy,” I called out as I waited briefly, and then began to stalk my prey.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MERCENARIES, ASSASSINS, AND soldiers; no matter the label, we are all the same. Guns for hire. Outside of killing for a living, for the most part we are very much like ordinary people.

  We get up, get dressed, usually eat two or three meals a day, maybe watch television, some even like to read. We get up, go to work, and punch the proverbial time clock, just like everybody else.

  Louis was an assassin, and a damn good one. Never missed a target, never any collateral damage. He was methodical and patient, with the virtues of any true craftsman. He never took a job where a single opportunity was the only option. There were always multiple plans for the kill. A missed mark was the kiss of death.

  Louis located his mark two days ago. He studied his options, sought out the perfect location, set up his shot and waited. For two days he waited by the window, mostly eating peanuts and mostly just waiting. The shells accumulating by the window were occasionally swept away by the sole of his size thirteen tactical boots.

  Louis, aka the Laser, was dialed in, focused, and ready. It was nighttime, just past nine o’clock. Laser chewed a mouthful of peanuts with a mechanical rhythm, when suddenly he spit them out. He grabbed his night vision scope to verify what he believed to be his target. The mark was on the move, and headed right at him. Louis turned his ball cap backward, and grabbed Terminator, his sniper rifle. Tonight was the night, it was payday. Tonight he would finally be free of this elusive target, who had somehow managed to remain off the radar for months despite Louis’s best efforts.

  Making the turn down Third Avenue, Sam and I were headed to a dinner meeting with Dee and Phillip to discuss our plans. From there the highly anticipated, yet agonizing trip down to the village for Sam to meet, and square off with, Angelique … and meet my son.

  In my former career as a sniper, I extracted a morbid pleasure from the sound of the bullet as it raced from the barrel, the slicing of the air as it made its way to the target, and the final thud of impact. I could sense them; looking back, that awareness must have been rooted in my vampire DNA. It was that same keen sense that alerted me to an incoming projectile. The firing had been muffled by distance and silencer, and mostly lost in the urban noise. But as it approached, there was no mistaking the signature song of my craft. Just as I braced for the impact, Sam cut in front of me to look at pictures of a tropical destination in the window of a travel agency, pictures of a life she was eager to begin. Just as I reached for her, the bullet found a target.

  “Nick!” Sam screamed out in agony, as the bullet burst out the front of her chest, passing through.

  “No!” I yelled. Sam collapsed to the ground, her precious blood spilling all over the sidewalk, covering me in burgundy spray of death. “Sam!” I screamed out upon deaf ears. The bullet had passed through her heart, dealing a deadly blow instantaneously. “No!” I shrieked again.

  Bystanders were screaming and running for cover. Before I had time to react to Sam’s dire situation, the sound of another bullet sizzled through the air. This one finding its intended target, striking me in the chest. “Call the police. Somebody killed that lady,” a woman cried out as she ran.

  The impact of the bullet knocked me off my feet. The pain in my chest was immense. Instinctively, I lunged to Sam. There was no movement, no breath. “Baby, stay with me. I can’t do this without you,” I cried.

  Appalled witnesses stood barely a block away, but there was only one hope, one ch
ance to save her life. No longer concerned with the consequences my actions might bring, I bent over and bit into her neck, nearly draining the blood that remained in her body. I sat up and ripped the flesh from my wrist and held it over her mouth. My blood spilled out the corners of her mouth. “Sam, baby, I know you can still hear me. You have to drink!” Her mouth filled with my blood, but she did not swallow. Her lifeless body limp in my arms, I screamed out toward the heavens, “Noooo!”

  Seconds later, another bullet pierced the air, this one finding its mark in my skull. I careened backward as the bullet crashed out the backside of my head. Falling back, I visualized the shot. On a fire escape three blocks down Third Avenue was the shooter. I hit the concrete hard.

  I lie in a pool of my blood, brain, and bone fragments. I had to get up. The source of my remaining strength and focus was unknown to me, but I rose nonetheless. I looked down at Sam, still lifeless. The shooter had already disappeared into the window from the fire escape. He had witnessed the result of his skill. No doubt, the pride in accomplishing his mission outweighed the collateral damage that was Samantha.

  I stared one final time at Sam. Rage instantaneously consumed me in a manner I had never experienced. Without thought, I left her behind and covered the three blocks to the fire escape outside the realm of human perception. I shot straight up the wall, bypassing the fire escape completely.

  Inside, the shooter was busy packing his bags. He never saw or heard my approach from behind. I looked at his phone sitting on the table. The sent text message read simply, “It’s done.”

  “It’s done? Motherfucker, her name was Samantha!” I screamed. Grabbing him from behind, I threw him into the wall like a rag doll. Large chunks of plaster showered the floor from the force of impact.

  “It ain’t done! Not yet bitch.” He groaned as I yanked him from the floor and hoisted him into the air. Terror filled his eyes. Instantly, I snarled, revealing my glistening bloodthirsty fangs. I desperately wanted him to taste raw, unbridled fear in the last remaining seconds of his life.