"You would do that?"
"He had children. Contrary to what you might think, I have a conscience."
Alana looked down at Miguel, and all the remorse and grief came flooding back to her. She didn't want to look at him. She wanted him out of her sight as soon as possible. It was cowardly and awful, what she felt, but she couldn't help it.
"Can't you do it?” she mumbled.
As a reply he flashed her a malevolent look.
"You can do it,” she pleaded. “You can take him into your arms and take off somewhere. At a preternatural speed no one would see you."
"I won't let you off that easily. Besides, I can go that fast only if I'm by myself. With a mortal body in my arms it would be much slower, and perfectly noticeable to the human eye."
"It's dark outside, and almost four. The chances of someone seeing you..."
"I've told you a hundred times. It's not safe to take chances. You'll have to be better than that."
Alana considered, repulsed by her own thoughts. “We could put him in a ... plastic bag ... you know, a garbage bag."
"Do you have any?"
"I think so. I'll go and check,” she said, heading out of the bedroom.
A moment later she came back, a miserable look on her face. “I couldn't find any,” she said.
Sadash seemed exasperated. “Do you have a suitcase? A big one?"
"Yes ... but he won't fit into it."
"Just bring it, okay?"
She did as she was told. The luggage was inside her closet, on the top shelf. She took it out and put it on the floor, close to Miguel. It was a big suitcase. But big enough to hold a dead body? Definitely not.
"He won't fit into it,” she said, already afraid of what his response might be.
"He will, if you cut off his head and legs."
"No!"
"Do you have a knife? Big, steel blade?"
"No!"
"Bring it. Now."
"Why are you doing this? You're doing this to punish me! We don't have to do this!"
"What are you talking about?” he said innocently. “We have to. There won't be any blood, for obvious reasons,” he added with a twinge of mockery.
"We can't do this! It's evil!"
"Cut the hypocrisy. You just killed the bastard. Get a grip on yourself and bring the knife. We don't have all the time in the world, you know, dawn is less than two hours away."
She stood nailed to the floor, hugging herself with her arms, with her eyes fixed on Miguel.
Sadash cursed in Turkish. Then he went out of the room. A minute later he was back, a big, all-purpose, steel-blade knife in his hand.
He moved his hand, and the steel flashed under the lights. Alana shuddered.
But there was no stopping this. She was in the center of a powerful current, and she was being dragged along with it. What disturbed her was that her acts were getting worse and worse each day. The first time she had killed she had cried, she had been flabbergasted by the amount of guilt. There still was guilt now, but the tears were gone, and after a few years, or maybe even a few months, the guilt would be gone, too. It was getting easier and easier to kill, to commit despicable acts. Because this was a despicable act, cutting Miguel into pieces and stuffing him into a suitcase. This act was a lot worse than having killed him in the first place.
"Have you ever done this before?” Alana said quietly, watching Sadash as he crouched on the floor beside Miguel.
He looked at her, and for a moment his expression softened. “You still have much to learn,” he said.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Exactly,” he said, his voice colder now. And he set to work.
Alana turned her face away, grimacing, shutting her eyes. But she could hear the sounds. Hacking. Hacking. Sadash groaning. After a while her curiosity was too much and she had to look. First she glanced from the corner of her eyes, half covering her face with her hands. Blade going up and down, cutting, sawing. Just like when she was little and went to the horror movies. She always wanted to watch the bloody parts, but she was afraid, so she would cover her face with her hands and peer out from between her fingers. It was like that now. She wanted to watch the horror part, but she was afraid.
From the corner of her eyes she caught a glimpse of the head, already tossed into the big suitcase. By far the most awful thing she had ever witnessed. Drinking blood was different. There was perverse beauty in it, and a dark kind of love. After all, she had to kill. But this was different. She turned her face away again. When she glanced back she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be part of a leg, jagged bone and flesh visible. Something tiny and vicious was fluttering in the pit of her stomach, but there was no nausea, no gagging.
By the end she was fully watching, her face too pale even for an immortal, her black eyes wide and full of the horror of her acceptance.
Sadash tossed the headless torso into the luggage. He crammed all the pieces together, including the knife. Part of one leg didn't want to fit and Sadash took it in his hands and cracked it into two like a cookie. Then he cast it with the rest and zipped the suitcase closed.
He got up and looked at her. His skin was perfect, slightly flushed but without sweat. But then, vampires never sweat. “Let's go,” he said, as naturally as if he had just gotten ready to go to the movies. “We have to get rid of this before dawn. We don't have much time."
"Where are we going to put it?” she said.
"I know a place."
You have done this before. You know where to hide them. You have cut them up ... You have...
"Alana."
She blinked, staring at him. How could she love a creature like him? But then, was she any better?
"What are we going to do about the blood?” she said. It wasn't much, but there was some blood on the floor, where he had hacked off the body parts.
"Forget it. Or do you want to lick it with your greedy little tongue? We don't have time."
"You're cruel."
He gave her a dry smile. “Don't look at me like that. Do you think I enjoyed it? And remember this is all your fault. This is the kind of atrocity I wanted to prevent. If you would have listened to me, nothing like this would have happened. You should be glad I'm here to help you. Forget the blood. Forget Valeria, for now. Tonight we'll deal with her."
"Wait...” Alana said.
Sadash came to a halt in the door frame, suitcase in hand.
Alana gathered Valeria into her arms and carefully laid her on the bed. When she looked back at Sadash she saw the most rueful, most serious expression on his face.
"Pedestals collapse,” he said.
Alana followed him out of the apartment, pondering his words. But she was so tired she didn't even want to ask him about their meaning. She was afraid of what his response might be. Besides, her eyes were continuously fixed on the luggage. On what was inside it. On which cursed place in this city it would end up.
CHAPTER 15
Situated on one of the most prestigious residential areas of San Juan, Humberto's house—or rather, Antonio Curet's house—was a dazzling example of modern architecture. Symmetrical lines, a lot of white and glass. A great garden adorned the front of the house, bisected by a curving driveway. The driveway and the street in front of the house were filled with cars, most of them belonging to party guests.
The breeze was warm, fragrant, and the coquies chirped lustily. A soft rock music spilled from the house out into the street.
Sadash and Alana got out of the Porsche. They were impeccably dressed, Sadash in a dinner jacket and Alana in a strapless black dress. Around her neck was the brass snake choker she had used so many times as the hostess of La Cueva, and her hair was pinned up into a French twist.
Alana looked at Sadash. In spite of herself, she had to admit he looked irresistible in his dinner jacket. He gave her an odd smile, offering her his hand, and Alana clung to him and hooked her arm with his. But after last night, the tension between them was like a sharp bla
de. They had disposed of Miguel's remains in a small isolated forest on the outskirts of the city. Sadash had dug a deep hole and buried the suitcase. Then they had driven back to his house, fast, very fast. He had leaped into his coffin with his hands and clothes still stained with mud and soil. Quickly, quickly, as there had not been much time. And she had climbed in next to him, hugging him, shutting her eyes very tightly, as if by shutting them she could make a little of the nightmare go away. And during those last seconds before falling into vampiric slumber, she couldn't help thinking that Sadash had, for some reason, done all of this on purpose, to teach her a lesson. He was cruel, so very cruel. And she was no better. It had all been her fault. She could have prevented Miguel's death. She could have. If only she could turn back the clock, if only she could go back in time. But it was useless, thinking like this.
And Valeria ... What was she going to do about Valeria? ... Give it to me, I trust your love, I love you, do it, now, give it...
Just before ringing Humberto's front doorbell, Sadash squeezed her arm. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Alana nodded, but she realized he knew better than that. She had wished to come alone tonight, but Sadash had insisted in accompanying her, though she had made him promise not to interfere with any of her actions. When she had asked him what they would do about Valeria, he had simply said he didn't know. He seemed oddly thoughtful, too, and unusually quiet. They would deal with Valeria later, he had muttered, bringing the subject to an end.
The butler received them at the entrance hall, along with a few other guests. The guests had invitation cards in their hands.
"Hello, Santiago,” Alana said, smiling. Santiago had been a butler here for many years.
"Nice to see you, Senorita Piovanetti,” Santiago said.
"I'm afraid I don't have any invitation card,” she said. “Humberto just invited me."
"You and your friends are always welcome, Senorita. Please come in and enjoy the party."
Alana followed Sadash into the house, scanning around for Señor Curet, for Humberto, for Valeria. But they weren't inside. There were many people in the living room, elegantly attired, with cigarettes and drinks in their hands, but the party was taking place outside in the pool area. The living room was enormous, Art Deco, with a lot of black leather and fossil rock tables and gold fixings and modern surrealist paintings on the walls. It was divided by a grand white stairway leading up to the bedrooms on the second floor. One wall was all glass, that is, sliding glass doors which were wide open displaying a full view of the pool and gardens.
Alana halted, seeing Humberto in the distance. He was standing by the pool, a drink in his hand, talking to a girl Alana had never seen before.
"What is it? Having second thoughts?” Sadash asked her.
She looked at him, startled. “No. Come on."
Outside, the breeze was deliciously soft and warm. The perfect weather for a night party by the pool. The pool was in the shape of a giant peanut, its waters crystal clear. She caught the smell of roast beef, rare. To the right side was a long buffet table filled with all sorts of food, to the left side, a long bar. The music played constantly, but low enough for people to carry out a conversation. Speakers had been installed beside palm trees and potted ferns. A slow, highly alluring music began to play, Madonna's “Justify My Love.” There must have been more than two hundred people, drinking, smoking, laughing, eating. There was a sophisticated, slightly artificial atmosphere to the place.
Hand in hand, Alana and Sadash began walking toward Humberto.
While talking to the girl, Humberto watched them approach. He seemed surprised, as if he had never thought Alana would actually come. For a moment his eyes settled on Sadash. Then he turned to the girl, excused himself, and began to approach them.
"Humberto...” Alana said, smiling. She couldn't help herself, she was happy to see him. She kissed him, gave him a hug.
"I'm glad you came,” Humberto said, drawing away from her.
"Me too. Humberto, this is Sadash ... Sadash Ölmez.” She made the introductions.
Sadash and Humberto looked at each other, shaking hands. Humberto seemed reluctant, critical, though polite. She knew he was making an effort for her, she knew he wanted to understand. She didn't know what was on Sadash's mind, but he looked pleased, relaxed, even amused.
"Nice meeting you,” Sadash said. “Alana has told me a lot about you. Too much, if you want the truth."
"The pleasure's mine,” Humberto said. “Though I have to tell you it's the opposite here. Alana has hardly said anything about you."
"Well, you know how I love mystery,” Alana said.
"That I know,” Humberto said, somewhat dryly. He was clad in a dinner jacket, too, his dark brown hair neatly combed away from his face. And he smelled of pine after-shave, very masculine and luscious, though it was nothing compared to the dizzying aroma of his blood. His blood was the embodiment, the essence of what he was: male, young, strong, healthy, sweet, loyal. But here she was, rambling off again, letting her lust get hold of her. She tried to shove these thoughts off her mind.
"Where's Valeria?” Alana asked him.
"I don't know. She's not here yet,” Humberto said. “But she'll come. I spoke with her today."
Alana exchanged a glance with Sadash. “Really? What did she say?"
"Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Just that she would come tonight."
Alana scanned his thoughts. Innocence. Valeria hadn't told him anything about last night, though suspicion was pouring out of him like a waterfall.
"Why do you look at me like that?” Humberto said.
"Like what?” Alana said.
"I don't know. You're looking at me in a strange way."
"Don't be silly. You just look so ... ravishing tonight."
"She's crazy about dinner jackets,” Sadash said, making a grimace of displeasure, his index finger trying to loosen a bit the tight collar around his neck.
"Yes, I know,” Humberto said. “I remember."
Alana read his thoughts. His were a lot easier to read than Valeria's. He was pure, his will much weaker than Valeria's. He was remembering their senior prom. Humberto had been her date for the prom, and he had worn a dinner jacket. The situation had been a little funny. He had been both Alana's and Valeria's date for the prom. The three musketeers. It had been Valeria's idea.
"Valeria was acting strange over the phone,” Humberto said. “She sounded muddled, nervous. I thought she was drunk, or that she was having a hangover. She was at home. She didn't go to the office today."
"Oh ... really? Why not? Is she sick?” Alana said.
"I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with her. She denied she was sick, or that she had drunk, or that there was anything wrong with her. She said she was just tired of the office and that she had decided to work at home today. She said she had been working at her computer all morning long. But I know she was lying. I called her a few times between nine and twelve, and there was no answer. I told her this, and she said she had simply ignored the phone. But I know her. She was lying,” Humberto said, nodding to make his point. Then he added, as if it explained everything, “You know her, you know how she is. If her aim is to hide something from you, no matter what it takes, she will. But then of course, you're like that, too."
"I'll ... I'll talk to her when she comes,” Alana said, deciding to ignore his last words.
"You saw how she was the other night, at the nightclub. She has been very worried about you,” he said, automatically throwing Sadash an accusatory look. “So have I."
Sadash remained silent, almost condescending, though he lifted one hand to scratch his jaw.
"Yes, I know,” Alana said. “But I told you already, I'm fine. Can't you see that?” How sad. She didn't know what else to tell him, how to reassure him. Better to stay away. After tonight she would always stay away. She had made her decision. If not Paris, then Istanbul. Or Sidney. Anywhere. But away.
For an int
ense moment Humberto stared at her. How she wanted to confide in him, hold him, kiss him, soothe his pain, soothe her own pain!
"Humberto ... where's your father?” Alana said, changing the subject. She didn't want to waste precious time. Do what you have to do, find what you have to find, then get the hell out.
"My father? I don't know,” he said, glancing around him. “He's around here somewhere. I saw him a few minutes ago. Why?"
She tried a smile. “I'd like to talk to him, say hello."
"Maybe he's inside. He'll be very glad to see you.” Then he said, as if he couldn't believe he had forgotten his manners, “Listen, would you two like something to drink? Let me get you something to drink. What would you like?"
But Alana was suddenly distracted. Her scent. She had caught her scent. Valeria's. Somewhere inside the house.
"Can you excuse me for a moment?” Alana said. She threw Sadash a meaningful look. “You two go ahead and have a drink, get to know each other, okay? I'll be right back."
Sadash's expression was indecipherable. He gave her a little nod of the head. She had expected a menacing look, a telepathic warning. But no, nothing.
"Get to know each other,” Sadash repeated, darkly amused, turning to Humberto. “Why not? I'll have a Coca-Cola, please, Humberto. Pure and on the rocks."
Now it was Humberto's turn to sound amused. “A Coca-Cola, pure and on the rocks. Why not?” he said. “By the way, Alana. I see you still keep that necklace. I later remembered where I first saw it. It was in that club in L.A. I told you about—Fangs. There was a painting on one of the walls, and it showed the same snake, just like that one, with the fangs ready to strike."
"Really?” Alana said, bringing a hand to her neck. “What a coincidence."
"Yes, what a coincidence,” Sadash perversely said.
"Yes ... Maybe the people who own La Cueva also own Fangs. They're very similar clubs,” Humberto said.
"Maybe,” Alana admitted. She shrugged, smiling. “Well, anyway, I don't work there anymore. Now, if you please excuse me...” She looked at Sadash. Keep him here, she told him telepathically, Please.
Embraced by the Shadows Page 24