by Jeff Seats
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STEPH COULD FEEL Vladimir’s eyes on her, and she looked through the room to him as if summoned to do so. Their eyes locked. Steph’s heart beat harder than she had ever felt before, it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
She watched Vladimir walk over to the jukebox and make a selection.
The sleek lines and soft, seductive lighting of the classic 1956 Wurlitzer 2000 invited touching; use. The library of 45s rotated until the chosen song was located and pulled up to the tone arm and then it began to play.
Steph’s breath became shallow. Her cheeks flushed as Vladimir sauntered up to her. In a slight Eastern European accent, he introduced himself. “I am Vladimir. Would you care to dance?”
Vladimir held out his hand, and Steph reached up and grabbed it. She stood as if hypnotized.
Steph could feel Vladimir’s eyes drilling into the core of her very being; accessing the hard drive of her soul while he moved her across the floor with erotic, fluid motions.
His voice filled her head. "Stephanie, do not fear me. I want you...and I know that you want me too.”
Music from the jukebox filled the air. A song from the 1950s. It was familiar; maybe she'd heard it on the oldies station or in a movie, but it had only been background music. A pleasant piece, but nothing to draw her attention. Now it was being used as a tool to seduce her, and it was working. Steph gazed up into Vladimir's eyes. She couldn't see anyone else. "My love must be a kind of blind lo..." but the rest of the words and tune were lost in a blur of wild sensations. She could no longer tell if she was inside or out in some garden or on a busy street. "Sha bop sha bop." She lost track of time and had no idea if it was day or night. Were there stars out? Were they visible or covered by clouds? She didn't care. "Sha bop sha bop." All Steph knew was that she was alone with Vladimir. And that was all she wanted.
His presence was instantaneously all consuming. When Steph opened her eyes, the room was swirling around her. The colors and the lights merged into an Andy Warholesque psychedelic motion picture; objects and bodies blurred and melded together making it impossible for her to stay focused on her perception of reality. Weren't there others with her?
Vladimir was all that she could see. He was her everything. Steph saw glimpses of her childhood, images of growing up, her mother, father. Someone else, recent. An image of Dick washed through her and dissolved as Vladimir’s overpowering presence erased all that was there. It no longer mattered what had happened in her past. She was a different person now. She felt like a baby being born into a new life. A life that would never end. A life meant to be spent with Vladimir.
Steph could feel Vladimir inside of her, inside her mind, but she didn't feel violated. She felt the warmth of being wanted and loved and that was all she desired now and forever.
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THE PASSENGERS WATCHED, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them; Vladimir smoothly swirling Steph around the floor. They could tell that she was totally captivated by him. He moved her around the room in graceful, fluid motions. They danced as though they had been partners forever being able to anticipate the other’s moves.
The locals were also spellbound by what was playing out before them. It had been many long years since they had witnessed the artistry of Vladimir in sweeping a human off her feet. They became increasingly intoxicated watching the seduction ritual playing out in front of them as the couple danced by them again and again with Steph the marionette and Vladamir the puppeteer. They knew that soon she would join them in their immortal family, and they anxiously awaited her christening. As Vladimir swept Steph past the locals one more time, he looked at them and licked his lips, smiled and revealed his nasty looking sharp fangs.
Steph rested her head on Vladimir's shoulder, and all that she could think about was the sound of the music and the beautiful mix of colors that filled her eyes. She looked up into his face. Everything else had disappeared from view. He sent her into a spin and then drew her back into his embrace. The music had stopped, but the pair continued to dance. Steph was now under in Vladamir's complete control.
The passengers had stayed huddled at a couple of tables not quite knowing what to make of the bizarre ritual they had been watching unfold before their eyes with Steph and this Vladimir.
With all attention focused on the dancers, a local woman spoke to a man standing next to her, then gave him a peck on the cheek, finished her drink in one swallow and walked towards the huddled passengers. With a warm, friendly smile she touched a chair at the O’Neil’s table.
"May I join you?" she asked. Her voice revealing a Midwestern accent.
Wilson looked at her and then to Marion who nodded yes. "Please," Wilson responded.
The woman moved the chair between Wilson and Cindra, sat and introduced herself. "My name is Amanda." She said looking to Cindra admiringly. "You have such a charming daughter. My husband, Charles, and I could never have children." She indicated the man whom she was standing with by the bar. She gave him a smile and a wave. He raised his glass and acknowledged the attention. "Oh, we would do just about anything to have a lovely little girl like yours." She reached out her hand to touch Cindra’s hair and combed her fingers through it. "Such beautiful hair..." She said wistfully, her fingers lingering as she fondled the little girl's silky smooth hair. Cindra remained stone still in her chair, afraid to move.
Marion reached under her daughter's chair and drew Cindra closer to her in a protective move. The woman reluctantly withdrew her hand. "Yes." Marion said, "Having children is a blessing from God."
Amanda pondered the comment for a moment. "I guess that must be it then. God has not seen fit to bless us for quite some time." She stood and smiled down to Cindra and reached out to touch her hair one more time but, changing her mind, she retracted her hand and strolled back to her husband. They both ordered a house special then leaned in to chat with the bartender looking towards the O’Neils.
Marion got a brush from her bag and pulled it through her daughter’s hair as though she were brushing out the touch of the woman's fingers.
This time, Charles, the husband, walked over to the O'Neil's table. He looked down at the open cans of crackers and cheese spread, lids bent back. "Sean tells us that you haven’t eaten and are looking for something other than these old containers of who knows what. My wife, whom you just met, and I would be honored if you came home with us for dinner and you could spend the night too."
Cindra reached her fingers into a can to fish out another cracker. "Ouch!" She winced and drew her hand away from the rough cut edge of the lid. Blood sprouted from the cut.
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry I'd didn't tell you to be careful about the sharp edge," Wilson said fussing over the cut finger.
The room went deadly still. All eyes were fixed on the blood that was welling up from the cut. Cindra put the finger into her mouth and sucked on the wound. Charles looked at Cindra's finger longingly. His nostrils flared with the intoxicating aroma of fresh blood and licked his lips with hunger. A band-aid materialized out of Marion's bag. With a tissue, Marion wiped off the blood and set it down before applying the band-aid.
Charles watched Marion going through the motions of first aid like a mark following a shell game determined not to let his eyes off of the ball: the cut, the blood, the finger in the mouth, the tissue, the band-aid.
In an instant of unrestrained desire, Charles snatched the bloody piece of tissue off the table and started to hold it up to his nose then became aware of the surprised looks the O"Neils were giving him. After an awkward moment, Charles attempted to regain his composure and stammered, "I'll, ah, just take care of this for you.” He turned to the other locals and displayed the red tinted tissue; flaunting his prize. Then as one more little tease, he put it to his nose, inhaled deeply and flashed a triumphant smile.
After making sure his daughter's hand was alright, Wilson looked up to Charles who had quickly stopped displaying the bloody tissue and had su
ccessfully managed to paste a look of feigned concern on his face. "Thank you, but we don’t want to impose. This food will suffice.” He said spinning the can of hash reluctantly around on the table. "And I’m sure we can stay at the hotel."
"Well, if we can't offer you food I do have to tell you that we have no hotel here. So perhaps a room might be attractive?"
"But the bartender said the hotel manager would be by soon. Well, not for a real hotel but the off-the-books one. We totally understand the legal and tax implications and won’t say a word."
"Sean? He told you that?” Charles looked over to the bartender who just shrugged his shoulders and gave a weak grin. “Sean’s such a kidder. Irish humor. Please consider the offer. We would love to spend a bit more time with your daughter and have you both for dinner."
Cindra's eyes grew wide. She shook her head and spoke to her mother in a loud whisper. “No mommy. I don’t want to go. Can’t we go back to the bus?”
Marion smoothed Cindra's hair in a consoling way. “Honey, I think meeting new people would be good for us, and I have to admit a bite and a bed sounds awfully tempting.”
Taking Marion's statement as the word from on high Wilson looked at Charles. “Well, you heard from the boss. We'd love to.”
Charles waved over to Amanda letting her know that the deal was set. She raised her glass in acknowledgment and came back to the table to join them all.
“Great! We just live down the street.”
Marion and Wilson started to gather their belongings. Marion looked to Cindra who had not moved. “Come on sweetie. We're going to the...” She looked at the Charles.
“Oh. Sorry. We're the Wainwrights. I'm Charles, but you already know that, and the missus is Amanda.” Amanda had joined them and offered her hand to shake.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Marion said while shaking Amanda’s hand. Marion arched her eyebrow when she touched Amanda. “Oh, your hand is cold. Look, if you aren't feeling well we can...”
Charles held out his hand to Wilson who took it. “Nonsense, Amanda always runs a little cold blooded after the sun goes down.” He said smiling broadly.
“And what would your excuse be?” Asked Wilson upon noticing the chilled skin of the hand he was shaking.
“Oh, a heart condition. Runs in the family.”
Wilson nodded understandingly. “And of course you’ve already met our daughter Cindra.”
“Oh, we have. My wife has taken a shine to her. It's strange, but Cindra is so much like our daughter.”
Marion stopped putting on her coat with a puzzled look and said to the Amanda. “Didn't I hear you say that you didn't have any children?”
Amanda stood tongue-tied. “Well, yes I...I'm, um...”
Her husband put his arm around her and held her close. “I do apologize. Amanda has trouble with acknowledging things that have happened to us in the past. You see we lost a daughter to cholera. She was so young and vulnerable... It affected us deeply. Amanda pretends that we never had a daughter to lose.” He said sadly and hung his head low. There was an uncomfortable pause.
Wilson broke the dark moment with fake cheeriness, clapped his hands together and said, “Well, then, I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep not to mention whatever specialty you will be serving up for dinner. Marion?”
“Oh yes. Come on Cindra, let’s get going.” She helped her daughter with getting on her coat and then followed Wilson and the Wainwrights as they made for the exit.
Before the Samoan unlocked the door, Paul stopped Wilson and pulled him aside. “I heard him mention something about cholera. My history is a bit foggy especially on medical issues, but I think that the last significant cholera epidemics in the United States occurred in the nineteenth century.”
Wilson gave Paul a blank stare.
“Think about it Wilson. These people can't be older than in their late twenties. And take a look at Steph.” The song on the jukebox had finished, and Vladimir had left her to replenish his drink, but she remained in the middle of the room swaying to music that no one else could hear. “Don't tell me there isn't something strange going on here.”
Wilson brushed Paul's hand off his arm. “Look, my family is hungry and tired. There is no place to spend the night other than accepting the kindness that is being offered. I can't give them much more, but this I can give them so stay out of our business. Okay?” He said, handing back Paul’s Leatherman.
Paul tried one more time. “Why do you think that big Samoan goon is standing by a locked front door? Is that to keep someone out or us in?”
Irritated with Paul, Wilson broke away and rejoined his family. Apelu unlocked the door and swung it open. The bell dingled its happy tune wishing the O’Neils a good night.
Paul called out to the O'Neils before they cleared the opening. “Hey, let’s meet back at the police station at 8 a.m. Okay? So we can figure things out fresh in the morning.”
Charles led the O'Neils out the door with Amanda taking up the rear of the group ushering them outside. Amanda turned to Paul. “Oh, don’t worry about them. We're night people, but we'll make sure that they're put down early.” She turned back to the other locals, winked and smiled. Her lips parted slightly revealing her fangs as she prodded the O’Neils out the door.
Again, the bell dingled its little tune when the door closed. Then Apelu turned the lock again and stood with his arms crossed making it clear that the other passengers were staying inside.
With that, the locals at the end of the room resumed their chatter. Laughter erupted as the occasional eye sneaked a peak at the stranded and, now apparently, imprisoned passengers.
Paul sat down in a chair with his back against a wall; the room laid out before him. Without knowing the threat, he sensed that nothing good was going to be happening tonight, and he didn't want to be caught off-guard. He reached around his back and felt for the driver’s 9mm. Paul hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it, but the signs were pointing to the potential need, Just in case.
—— ACTION TEAM ——
CSC AGENT CRAIG Wright busted out of the front entrance of Control-West. He was a man on a mission. His rez was now the center of trouble, and he had no intention of freezing his butt off in Northern Alaska or Antarctica; even if global warming was melting it down to the rock of a continent that it was. He just hoped that not too many people would have to die before he could contain this problem; though he knew that at least one had died already and that more probably would or already had.
The door Craig just slammed open quickly closed before newly minted agent Liz Adams could slip through it. Thanks. She thought sarcastically. Adjusting the bag which had been handy for carrying all the reading material she had to book up on had now become a liability; one she was going to have to jettison soon. She didn't believe that “gearing up” included any part of this bag or its contents.
Liz hit the crash bar hard and hurried to catch up with her new partner as he made straight for the entrance of the concrete structure that stood several yards ahead of them. He had a head of steam built up and was moving at full tilt. The whole idea of going out on an action on her first day was messing with her equilibrium. What was she being thrown into? Did she have to go up against vampires, real vampires today, right now?
Totally distracted by these thoughts, Liz felt something slip from the open bag. She stopped in time to grab some errant papers which were making a disorderly escape in an attempt to be distributed by the wind throughout the base. Now would be a good time just to unload the bag right here but these were secret documents. Shit!
Liz saw Craig getting further away from her with each determined step, but she paused; the voice of Master Sergeant Terry not far from the surface of her consciousness. She put the bag down and made sure that all the documents were inside and that the flap was secure. She wondered what Agent Wright must be thinking when two feet appeared on the ground in front of her. Looking up, Liz saw Wright looking at her. His expression gave the answer to that
question.
Craig stood over Liz and watched her finish securing that damned bag. He thought again of his last partner...her death, and she had been experienced. The urgency of the moment became dulled by the thought that he was going out into the field with an untried agent; a situation that wasn't good for the action team, for him and most of all, potentially, for her. He took in a calming breath, but the concern and frustration in Craig's voice could still be heard as he spoke to her. “Listen, you gotta stow that stuff and pay attention to the task at hand. I don’t have time to tell you all you will need to know right now but this one thing I will tell you. If you do not focus and stick with me, you may very well be experiencing your first and last day with the CSC. And I'm not talking about getting sent back to a desk.”
Liz stood up straight when she heard that.
“Are you catching my drift agent?”
Liz picked up the bag and shouldered it.
“Yes, I am.” He just called me an agent!
“Good. We're going to the armory where we will join the Action Team. From there we will board an Osprey and head to Vamp Town. I will brief you more when we are en-route. So stay frosty. Watch me. Do what I do. Copy?”
“Loud and clear sir.” He called me an agent!
Craig turned and rushed towards the armory door. Liz followed him right on his heels, bag under control and hanging over her shoulder.
Directly inside the armory, they stopped in a vestibule where Craig passed his security card against a box next to a door. The light on the lock shifted from red to green, and he opened the door allowing Liz to pass through first. On the other side of the door was a reception area of sorts. A desk at one end stood as interference before the open hall behind it. At the desk was an armed guard who looked at Craig and let him pass. He headed down the hall towards another door. Liz followed Craig, but the guard behind the desk stood and stopped her.